


Winds of the Lovestruck

by corinnemaree



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, One Shot Collection, Tumblr Prompt, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: Collection of some Claire and Owen drabbles, prompts and one shots.





	1. 3 times Owen wants to kiss Claire + 1 time they actually kiss

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: “You’re my roommate who’s super cute and it’s the middle of the night and you’re cramming for your exams in your flannel pajamas and disheveled hair and it’s becoming increasingly hard for me not to kiss you”

1.

Claire always liked to cram for exams right up until the last possible minute. Owen found this out the hard way when he went for a glass of water near midnight and saw the redhead. On the couch, her laptop screen shining with a blue ominous glow and her glasses hanging low as she was hunched in a weird position as she read. The only way Owen could describe it was a sort of gollum-like position. Admittedly, the sight was enough to shock him into shouting and collapsing against the wall. But it became almost regular around finals. Owen understood. 

It became a regular thing. The messy buns, two pairs of glasses on her head, the famous study pjs with their flannel design, and pens shoved into the bands of her hair. She was a mess and all their friends said so. So, why was it, that Owen found her so goddamn irresistible? He saw her on her good days, the days where she wore the skirts and the jumpers, hair done perfectly and everything on her person in order for classes. Claire was the picture of perfection when she went to class and studying for tests during the semester. Then, the finals came, and she turned into a disaster. 

Owen wasn’t sure what it was. He only been in one of her classes in the first semester; that’s how they met. Owen was her partner in an assignment, and yeah they didn’t really get on much, but he thought she was fun, for the most part. When she was complaining one day in class about her dorm room, Owen suggested that they get an apartment together. And yeah, he was seeing someone at the time, so it wasn’t a huge deal. Until they broke up and Owen realised that the feisty roommate of his was breaking him slowly, making him fall ridiculously hard for her. All their friends knew it. But no one said anything about it. 

After Owen had changed majors and their courses became different, Claire and Owen saw each other less during the day, but always spent their nights together in their little apartment. When Owen came home from work, he found the lights turned on, save for the single blaring light of a laptop screen. It was a tough one, because he also heard the soft puffs of air of a slumbering Claire. He rounded the corner to their living area, and found her hanging over the side of the couch, cozying up on a pillow. 

Her exam was two days away, and she was nervous. Hell, Owen was nervous too and he wasn’t even taking the class. It was only mid semester exams, but she was stressing about it like it was the end of it all. Owen sighed, bending down at the side of the side of the couch and watching as the little breaths became a perfect pattern. God, he thought everything about her was perfect, didn’t he? It wasn’t fair. Owen let his head hang before looking back at her. 

It was the first time he’d ever thought about it, wondered if he could. Wondered if he could kiss her. It was a selfish thought, letting himself indulge it, imagining her slight response before they let themselves sink into something more. 

Owen reached out, fingers tentative to even dare it. The lonely strands of hair, falling just inside the rim of her glasses were tempting, just ready to be moved, and for Owen’s fingers to just be close to her, if only for a second. He tried to nudge them aside, but the tickle of her hair against her face spooked Claire awake. 

“I’d never cheat!” she yelled, clutching the edge of the couch, then looking at Owen as he looked at her, confused, “what?” she asked, flicking the hair out of her face and pushing her glasses up her nose. 

“You...think about taking exams when you sleep?” Owen grinned, trying to suppress the laugh, but it fell easily, escaping him so much he had to fall back on his ass just to let the laugh out fully. 

“Shut up,” Claire muttered, kicking his foot. She yawned, taking her laptop and moving the only source of light to her room. Still, the everpresent glow around her, even when she lazily smiled back at him before shutting the door, Owen had the overwhelming urge to chase after her, following that smile with a kiss until she lay comfortably. With his knees rising, he rested his arms on them, watching her door for a moment before getting up and making himself a snack before bed. He shuffled off, and let himself think about the messy red hair that made him wonder about the likelihood of college romances lasting beyond these formative years. 

 

2. 

Maybe it was blue balls; maybe because he hadn’t gotten laid in months was why he couldn’t stop picturing himself with Claire. He was desperate to kiss her, just to be able to taste her lips like so many others had. They sat across from each other at their breakfast table, textbooks and laptops scattered across it, the clear line between the two courses showing in how much text was on each page or the slideshows that flickered through on laptop screens. 

Claire tapped her foot against the leg of the table, fiddling with her earring as she wrote things down in her notebook. She was completely in the zone. Owen was supposed to be taking notes, but foolishly he was staring. He had a nasty habit of that. It felt so idiotic to just fall for her constantly, but he was a fool. Reaching up to her hair, she pulled out another pen and placed the one in her hand in her mouth. He couldn’t describe why or how, but it felt beautiful to watch her so something so ridiculous. He had a goofy grin on his face when Claire looked up at him. He lost it quickly, feeling the rising heat on his cheeks. 

“You know,” Claire started, putting her pens down, “if you keep getting distracted by the wall, you won’t be able to ace your animal behaviours class,” she joked, but at least she didn’t notice he was staring at her. 

“You know that’s my major, why do you have to make me nervous?” Owen replied, trying to dig back into his work. 

“To keep you on your toes, Grady,” Claire laughed, and it made Owen stop again. He wanted to hear her laugh more, the squeak of a laugh, the snorting as she really enjoyed herself. He liked all of the weirdness that radiated from her. 

“How’s business going?” he asked. 

“I am exhausted,” Claire groaned, burying her face into her papers as Owen laughed, “but if he doesn’t give me extra marks on this presentation, I am going to sue,” she said, gripping tightly to her pens, picking them back up. 

“I’m sure you know how at this stage,” Owen said, leaning forward, “and there’s no way he taught you that ‘cause Professor Finn is scared of you,” he smiled. Claire pointed her pen at Owen, eyes narrowing on him. 

“You know me too well.” 

“We have been living together for like a year and a half,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but you also had a girlfriend. Didn’t think you’d notice me,” Claire commented, pulling a textbook forward. 

“It’d be impossible not to notice you,” he confessed, before smirking, “gollum.” Owen bit into his lip, stopping the laugh, but his shoulder still shook as he couldn’t help it flutter out. Claire threw her textbook forward.

“That was one time,” she yelled.

“Sure. And what are you going to say this time? You were doing it to exercise your back? Oh no wait, that was your bullshit excuse last time!” he challenged and Claire pushed her chair out from under her, trying to round the table.

“Oh come here, you’re dead,” she called out, and Owen was already up, keeping a distance between them, as well as their kitchen island. 

“Your exam is in three weeks! If you kill me, you’ll need to fit my body disposal and cover up all in the middle of your very tight schedule,” he tried to reason, knowing full well that Claire had every last minute of her days up until her exam planned to a tee. If he messed that up, he would be just as dead. And it stopped her. She smiled and giggled, rolling her eyes. 

“I hate that you actually have a point,” she muttered, combing her fingers through her hair. She pushed off the kitchen island, moving back to the breakfast table. “I’m killing you after the finals,” she pointed at him, before dragging her textbook back to her.

“I don’t feel like this is going to go well in my favour, so hopefully your mind palace like brain forgets to do it,” he chuckled, getting a can of energy drink from fridge and drinking some of it before going to sit down. 

“You’re right again. Can’t say I’ll remember your name by the end of these three weeks. It may become less important to me,” she smirked, digging herself back into the mess of her project. 

“You...wound me, Claire,” he gasped, walking back to his chair and sitting back down. Claire looked up from her work, leaning forward with a challenge set into her shoulders.

“Oh no, what are you going to do about it?” she smirked. The look in her eyes, the teasing notion in her voice - it was like she knew what she was doing. And all Owen could think of was surging forward, knocking everything to the ground just to kiss her. She was testing him, and he was damn near about to fail; fall for the easy trap that she set for him. Owen could do it, push the table aside, kiss her swiftly as they fell to the floor, rolling in each other’s embrace as their kiss lasted as long as she would allow him. 

“You’re awful,” he said, resigning into his chair and hated the fact that he wished for more than just playful banter. 

Falling for her was becoming the worst thing for him. But he loved it anyway. 

 

3. 

“Hey, come on, we gotta go,” Owen nudged Claire. Of course she fell asleep at the library, she only had a few days until the exam of her life and she was neglecting a few things. The beanie that was never usually worn was on her head, hiding the fact that her hair had been unwashed in a few days. Owen kept her company, giving her focus questions and timing her mock exams. Claire went over everything, over and over again, Owen reading out words, and Claire telling him the meaning of them all. They were there from late afternoon to middle of the night. She was brain dead - the type of brain dead where words were repeated and sentences were never finished or the soft asking of “you know?” to the confusion of everyone around. Owen knew she was struggling, and it was time to get out of there. 

Gathering up all her notes how she’d want them, putting them in her bags and hitching them up on his shoulder, pulling Claire to her feet as she groaned. “The business model,” she started, mumbling something that was unintelligible. Owen scoffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, helping her to walk,  “we’re heading home,” he told her, as Claire linked her arm with his, walking in time with him. Her eyes were shut and her head rested on him in her drowsy state. 

They walked along the sidewalk, walking back to their apartment peacefully and the night air changing to bring in cooler winds. 

“Food,” she grumbled, clutching at her stomach. 

“I’ll get Chinese,” Owen whispered to her, the urge to press his lips to the top of her head as he smiled was overwhelming. He liked the wholesome stuff, the stuff that may be simple and mundane, but a treasure in the heart of someone in love.

“Yay,” she said monotoned. Claire could have tried for enthusiasm, but Owen was sure that every last brain cell was used to its capacity; crammed to the brim. 

They missed the lights to cross, having to wait through the mounting traffic that did not ease. Owen huffed, pulling the bags up on his shoulder again, but as he shifted, Claire had become comfortable. So, she did what she always did, she cuddled closer to thing providing the comfort. It was Owen, in this case. He still, looking down at her, watching as she smiled as she held onto his arm and her weight shift into him easily. 

With her head resting on his shoulder, the light still not telling them to cross, Owen could savour the moment with her. A snapshot of all that he wanted; something more than friendship, a lust for love found within the other. He hated that he was hopeless romantic sometimes. Though he was awful at it, he still kind of wanted the whole show, to treat a woman right, to hold her hand and kiss her whenever and however she wanted. He may not succeed all the time, but god, he’d try every goddamn day for Claire. 

But he never pushed past the step that crossed them over, that tilted their roommate status from friends to lovers.  To have Claire Dearing in your life, it was like a miracle. He’d seen how people had fucked up their relationship with her, how they did something that she couldn’t stand to be around, to let them stay. Owen never wanted to be a statistic that would hurt Claire. And he knew damn well she knew how many people had done her wrong. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the worst of it when her past boyfriend left. 

He hated that she cried at night. 

And that comforting her felt so wrong, that he let her sit in her room all night. 

The lights sounded, and they continued just another block to their apartment. And all the while, Owen hated that they were moving so fast. He didn’t get his moment to wake her with a kiss as they walked up the stairs, or hold her by their front door as she giggled with the little snort when she became overwhelmed with the feeling in her chest, kiss her in the midst of it. Owen missed his chance to kiss her goodnight at her door, or kiss her goodnight in a bed that they would share. And Owen lay awake, wondering Claire had wanted ever thought of him like he thought of her. 

 

+1

Owen was waiting outside the exam building, knowing Claire’s exam was over any minute. His animal behaviour exam was done with the day before, and he was excited that he and Claire were free. He had a bar of chocolate, wine and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream all waiting back at the apartment; he wanted to pick Claire up in case it didn’t go as well as they both planned. 

A few minutes more, and the courtyard was filling with students, some more defeated than others, but he could see Claire straight away. Her hair was bright that day, actually washed because of course she needed to feel fresh and alert for her exam. Owen made sure he didn’t have any alarms that would wake her before she needed. He missed his workout in the morning, but he felt like he deserved it after the exam.

Claire was walking aimlessly, clicking things on her phone until she saw him waving ridiculously hard to gain her attention. Suddenly, she broke into a large smile that made Owen’s heart ache. Racing over, Owen watched as she avoided bumping into people, her hair flicking back and forth as she ran. 

Jumping straight into his arms, Owen staggered back, his face soon burying into the crook of her neck as she squealed out of joy. Claire was no longer on her feet and Owen only really noticed when he could turn without the encumbrance of her feet holding them still. Owen basked in the feeling for as long as he could before letting her fall to her feet, still glowing in a joyous way as she was practically hopping with excitement. As she stared up at him, Owen couldn’t help but think about how easy it would be to kiss her, how normal it would feel. Claire ducked her head, fixing hair behind her ear before she looked back at him. 

“I think I passed,” she smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“That’s awesome!” Owen said, pulling her in for another hug before letting room between them once more.

“And you’re to thank,” she said, nudging his arm. 

“Okay, that’s a lie,” he scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You stayed up with me and helped me study,” she started, “made sure I ate and slept right. You were there for me and I just…” Claire’s words trailed off, as though she couldn’t voice something within her or lost herself in thought. 

Owen laughed again, “Me? Helping? Claire, you did everything, I was just that roommate that never lets you live down that time you were gollum and scared the cr-”

Before Owen could finish his sentence or react, Claire was on her toes, hand on the back of his neck as she pulled him down to her. Their lips met in a soft and nervous pairing. They were unsure at first before Claire stepped into him, deepening the kiss to how she liked. And he realised...she was kissing him. He wasn’t dreaming, because he could taste the subtle stain of coffee on her lips and could feel the slight shake in her hand as she bound it into his jacket. They parted, but Claire barely stepped away from him. “Thanks, Owen,” she beamed, and Owen blinked, unable to find the words.

“I...uh…” 

“God, that took us long enough, didn’t it?” she laughed, her hand slipping down to his, fingers intertwining, and that giant smile of hers was blinding him to sense. All he could do was nod as she laughed and leaned into him, holding him close and not letting him slip from her slight embrace. They began walking, though Owen felt slow, as though the walk itself was helping him catch up. 

“Did you just -” 

“Yep,” Claire replied. 

“And are we going to da-” 

“Yep,” she confirmed once again. 

“Okay,” he nodded, “I like that,” he said, finally being able to kiss at the top of her head, arm draped over her shoulder as her hand reached up to tangle her fingers with his own. 

Back at their apartment, Claire put down her purse on the kitchen island and turned back to Owen. “Hey, you know that time we were arguing about me being gollum?” she asked. Owen looked at her, nodding and smiling to her. 

“Yeah? You were getting super competitive,” he said, putting his keys down near her bag. But she stepped away, a playful hop away from him. His eyes narrowed on her. 

“Yeah, ‘cause I wanted you to kiss me, Owen,” she said, backing away from him slowly. He knew what she was doing this time. 

“What?” he said, just as Claire walked slowly away, looking over her shoulder with a sly smile. “Wait, no, you can’t just walk off like that,” he said, moving forward. 

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked, her brow raising and Owen smirked, surging forward and chasing Claire swiftly. She squeaked when he finally caught up, both of them collapsing to the couch, kissing and giggling with the joy of everything. He was glad he finally got to kiss her. It was everything he could have imagined and more. 

God, he’s so glad he messed up his first semester classes. 


	2. Lingering (pt1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lingering. It was like something wouldn’t leave, tugging on the back of his shirt as he walked.  
> She followed him in the twilight hours, between shadows and light, the echo of what someone once was. When they were alive, or maybe something in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t look at me. I didn’t mean to do this. It kinda just...happened. trust me this was gonna be A LOT WORSE than what’s written here. Also, this is meant to be open ended, so if i should make this have a happy ending, come and harass me about it

Lingering. It was like something wouldn’t leave, tugging on the back of his shirt as he walked. It was a persisting feeling that had followed him for quite a while. Owen was never sure what to make of it until he saw her . Stood in his apartment was a woman that he could see right through, almost completely transparent. H e stumbled back into his door frame, dropping his can of beer. She had disappeared before he could form words. Blaming it on the beer, Owen forgot it, and got used to the lingering of her. 

It was the footsteps that told him it wasn’t the beer. He heard them during the day, haunted by them at night. There were creaks from cupboards in rooms he wasn’t in, objects being moved from where they originally were. He fought the idea of it; a ghost in his apartment wasn’t going to be a real thing. Then, she would walk, catching glimpses of her in sunlight and watched as she was spooked by him. 

Owen never caught her name; she merely passed by in his apartment, flicking in and out of existence before leaving just a trace of herself in the air. Days would go by without any signs of her, and then there were days where she’d be around more than Owen was. It took him only a few more days to talk to her. She stood in his kitchen, stuck in the doorway, trying to find somewhere to go, but he was looking at her and she didn’t move. She didn’t seem to want to; maybe she thought of herself as more present when he saw her. 

Blazing red hair, jeans and a crisp maroon blouse, paired with black heels and a trench coat; she looked like any normal woman on her way to work. She looked like a person that he could have seen on the street that day, he didn’t even know how to process the fact that she was standing there looking completely normal, yet he was able to see right through her. 

“Who are you?” he asked, trying to not make his voice tremble. But, there was a shake in his hand, an unsteadiness in his chest; Owen was unsure of everything. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, voice weak and wavering. It sounded like an echo, a voice that could be there, but lost to the air around it. Then, she started doing something she hadn’t before. She started to cry. Hand over her mouth, sobs that were strangled and smothered by her palm and shoulder shaking, she was breaking. 

“Are you okay?” Owen asked, stepping closer to her. She didn’t recoil, but she seemed broken. 

“I’m scared,” she whimpered. Owen wasn’t sure what to do, what to say to her when he knew nothing of what was going on. 

“I’m Owen,” he introduced, stepping towards her once more. Maybe he could touch her, try to see if she was really nothing but mist. 

“Claire,” she nodded, swallowing the whimpers and as Owen reached for her, she vanished.  

“Wai-” he tried, but she was gone. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, the air around him not cold, but still. It was heavy, like dust had spread and weighed him down. Owen wasn’t able to comprehend what had gone on with him. 

Maybe when he was a child, he believed in ghosts, but he was an adult now. That belief was lost on him; yet he couldn’t deny the fact that he was seeing a woman that wasn’t there in his apartment. He didn’t know what to make of it, to make of her, but she was becoming a part of his life whether he wanted it or not.

It became routine, seeing her, trying to talk, only for their interaction be cut short by a touch. It was clear after the first few times that Owen shouldn’t touch her, maybe it was the reason she disappeared from his sight. 

There were times where Owen found himself falling asleep on his couch. The T.V. would continue on with a show after his own, and he’d been exhausted after his day that he couldn’t help but fall into the comfort of his couch. He thought on the last time he had company in his apartment, the last time someone stayed and he felt like he was happy; it had been a long time. Loneliness puts you in a position where you wish for more, Owen thought. He wanted more. Sleep took him in. 

“Owen,” a soft voice said in his ear. It repeated over and over again, before Owen realised someone was actually speaking. When he opened his eyes, Claire was over him, looking at him curiously. He jumped, moving back into his spot on the couch and making Claire instinctively move back herself. She had stood over him, but carefully move over to the empty spot next to him on the couch. “Sorry,” she apologised. 

“No, no,” he said, trying to regain a sense of normalcy, “I just wasn’t expecting you,” he shrugged, trying to smile through his sleepy daze. 

“No one else can see me,” she replied, tugging her legs onto the couch. Claire looked so real, even making an impression into the couch, but he wasn’t even sure. 

“You’re a person then? Like you have a family and you tried to see them?” he asked and Claire nodded. 

“I mean, you see me. And I know who I am. I tried to find my family, and I saw them, but I couldn’t get them to see me like you do,” she explained.

“You’re a ghost?” he asked and Claire looked over at him. 

“I don’t...know,” she sighed, putting her chin on her knees again. 

“Do you remember...dying?” he asked, gritting his teeth, he knew he wasn’t being delicate, but it wasn’t like he had dealt with a ghost before. 

“No,” she shook her head, “I don’t remember anything except a few things. I don’t remember a lot. I know that the memories I had were a week before whatever happened...but I don’t remember the week,” she explained as best as she could. 

“We can try and search up what happened to you? If something happened, we can try and -” 

“What if I’m actually dead?” she interrupted. The worry in her eyes told him enough; she had so much to do in her life, so much she wanted, and if this was death, it was cruel way to go out. If she was, she didn’t want to know, hope could probably keep her going. 

“You make a hot ghost,” he tried to joke. He watched as Claire looked at him blankly and he couldn’t help but smile at her. Claire cracked a smile, letting a laugh slip from her lips before bursting out into a fit of giggles. She snorted and let herself go, a moment of joy he hadn’t seen from her. Her smile was radiant, her laugh a loud siren of joy that made something in his chest ache. It was the happiness of her that made him a little weak. When she tried to shove his arm, her hand passed through him and her entire being disappeared. Owen sighed, watching as the smoke of her vanished. The moment he got with her was...perfect. 

He wasn’t going to lie to himself; she was beautiful. A laugh like a hyena, but a smile that wounded him with joy; the combination had him hooked. She was physically beautiful, eyes blue like a crystal clear ocean view, freckles spread onto a button nose and that hair that brightened up his day. Owen knew if he saw her out, he’d want to talk to her, ask her out, be near her more. But this was different. She wasn’t exactly there, a real person - maybe, but she wasn’t really in front of him. It made what he was feeling harder to take seriously.

Owen became used to Claire being around him. He found that she was very respectful of his privacy, and wouldn’t pry unless she was particularly interested in something that had happened. The questions were fun enough and he didn’t mind answering them for her. He wasn’t exactly an open person, but he thought of her like a roommate that he had to live with. It wasn’t like she was going to leave, or tell anyone what he has said. 

When Owen was realising his bathroom supplies were running low and that he probably should take more care of his apartment with Claire around, he went out shopping. Loading random things into his cart, he lazily roamed the aisles, wondering if he had any use for some of the fancy things he wouldn’t usually go for. 

“You buy the strangest stuff,” a familiar voice whispered beside him. Owen jumped at the sudden appearance of Claire, crashing into the shelves. Glancing around, people stared at him, curious as to what was wrong with him. 

“Sorry, I thought I saw a...bird fly in here,” Owen said, clearing his throat. 

“Nice save,” Claire chimed, climbing into the cart and smiling at him as he sighed, continuing on with his shopping. He grabbed out his phone, pressing it to his ear.

“What are you doing here?” he said into it, and Claire scoffed, realising what he was doing. 

“I got bored. I’ve been following you all day. Which sounds weird, but I have nothing else to do with my time and I may have tried to clean your apartment,” she said, shrugging lightly, and Owen narrowed his focus on her. 

“Did you break anything?” he asked. 

“A glass sculpture in your room….and three plates,” she smiled. She was getting better at moving stuff, but she wasn’t perfect yet - which annoyed her to no end. 

“You’re not allowed to touch anything in my apartment,” he sighed, pushing his cart around to the next aisle, “You’re here now, pick stuff out I should get,” he whispered, walking slowly with his cart and leaning against the handles. 

“Oh thank god, I’ve wanted to style your apartment for so long,” she said, pointing to a new set of plates along one side of the aisle. 

Keeping his phone pressed to his ear, Claire gestured for him to put things back, or put things inside his cart. Claire had a very particular vision she wanted for his apartment, as he noticed the colour theme she was going with. He smiled when he saw certain blue objects coming up, because without fail, she’d look at it and decide if it was what she wanted. They got into a rhythm of shopping, the stopping and starting, small discussions here and there about what he needed and what she wanted. 

Claire stopped him suddenly, pointing to a group of candles all stacked together. “Can you get that one?” she asked softly. Owen’s brow furrowed, looking to where she was. 

“Which one?” he whispered. Claire pointed at the vanilla candle. “Why?” he asked, picking it up and looking at the candle. Claire stayed silent for a while which made Owen look up at her. She was tracing her fingers over the seam of her coat, as though there was a memory she didn’t want to confess. Owen leaned on the handles again. 

“I liked wearing vanilla perfume. Makes me feel happier when I smell it,” she revealed. She leaned towards the candles once more, smelling at them again and revelling in the scent. 

“Okay,” Owen smiled, putting it in the cart along with everything else. 

“Yeah?” she asked, hopeful. Owen nodded, “Yes!” she cheered, making the cart shake. Owen stilled the thing and stared her down. “Sorry,” she apologised, smiling bright with cheeks a rosy pink. 

Back at the apartment, Claire sitting on her favourite chair at his breakfast table, humming a little song as he started to put things away or as directed. Owen placed the candle on the kitchen counter, finding the matches in the cupboard and lighting the wick. The apartment became enriched with vanilla in a matter of minutes, filtering in the air like a parade. When Claire finally smelled the scent, she beamed back at him. 

“Thanks for letting me stick around,” she said as Owen sat down opposite her, “I’m a ghost that haunts you,” she joked, smiling, not numbed by the sentiment like she once was. 

“You’re the best company I’ve had in a really long time. Which is kind of sad,” he scoffed, taking one of the bags and sorting them out into which part of his home they needed to go. 

“Why?” she asked. 

“Well, I mean, you’re not -” 

“No, I mean, why am I the best company you’ve had?” she pressed, curious about it all. Owen shifted, straightening his shoulders. He didn’t talk much about his time in service, but he didn’t mind with Claire. He spoke briefly on it, his time kept away from people, but mostly that he’s glad to be home, working with the V.A.; he was safe there. 

It became routine over the months, Owen would go out, he’d pick up things or he’d go to work, and Claire would wait at the apartment. She was allowed to read or go online as long as she didn’t post or do anything under his name. It was more so that Claire didn’t want to, so she put restrictions on herself; making sure he felt safe with her using his things without snooping on things he may not want her to. Plus, it was clear that Owen being spooked at work didn’t help him with his job. 

After a particularly hard day at work, Owen yawned entering the threshold of his home. He didn’t find Claire sitting around, but that was normal; her patterns of being there differed from day to day, and they weren’t exactly sure why. Owen fell into his spot on the couch, flicking through his recorded shows, furrowing his brow when he realised something. 

“Did you watch Westworld?” he called out. There was a long pause before Claire replied.

“No?” her voice was weak, but the lie was in the way she spoke. 

“You did! It says I’ve watched the episode!” he yelled, Claire walking into the room and jumping to her spot next to him. 

“I got excited and you were late!” she said, pouting softly to try and get herself out of the issue. 

“If you spoil it for me, I’m going to -” 

“What? Kill me? I could already be dead,” she remarked, cocking an eyebrow. Owen rolled his eyes. 

“You’re lucky,” he joked. 

“Forgive me?” she asked. 

“Can you get me a beer?” 

“I can’t touc-” 

“Oh, don’t lie. You’ve always known how to stuff. Just not people,” he reminded, daring her to lie some more. She didn’t. 

“Only because I watched it. Don’t expect me to do this again,” she said going to the fridge, managing to open the door in one motion. Her hand disappeared briefly before grabbing into the glass of beer. 

“Like I’d ask you on any other occasion,” Owen laughed. She carried it over, placing it in front of him as he started to play the episode over. He was spoiled even when Claire didn’t mean to, her reactions came just before big moments happened in the episode and he laughed to himself every time because nothing truly felt like a surprise. 

It was a few days later that Owen saw one of his neighbours, Barry, on their way down the elevator.

“Hey,” Barry greeted.

“Hey Barry,” Owen nodded, just as Claire appeared, a little surprised by her own surroundings. Owen’s jaw tightened, Claire’s head popping up just behind Barry’s shoulder and a vague shrug as she moved behind Owen. He tried not to divert his eyes from Barry, though he felt the lingering presence of her behind his shoulder. 

“Do you have a roommate now?” he asked.

“No?” Owen replied, a little curious as to why he’d ask in the first place. 

“I just hear you talking and laughing all the time now,” Barry replied. Owen felt the hover of a smile by his side. 

“Just...this girl I’m seeing. She likes to call a lot,” Owen said, clearing his throat. Barry nodded, patting Owen’s shoulder. They were friends and Barry knew better than most how utterly single Owen was.

“Oh, are we a thing now?” Claire chimed, standing next to him as the door opened. “Shouldn’t we at least go on a date? I like being pampered,” Claire smirked, and Owen looked over to her quickly, narrowing his eyes but smiling the same. She smiled wide before the doors closed and her wave echoed as they shut. That smile alone kept him going for the rest of the day. 

As the mess in his apartment became unwelcome, Owen spent a weekend cleaning. Claire stood next to the speaker, flicking through Owen’s phone to find the perfect song, but she was unfortunately in his way, blocking him from vacuuming the rest of the floor. When the song finally landed on Toto’s Africa, Claire jumped up. Owen wanted to sneak past her, but she just turned and beamed back at him. When Claire said she was much more professional and organised when she was...in her body, Owen could hardly believe it; she radiated joy, bounding from one end of the room to the other. 

“I love this song!” she said shutting her eyes as the drums kicked up.

“Can you not get in the way?” he huffed. 

“You can pass straight through me,” she shrugged. 

“You always disappear when I do,” he said, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Did she know what he meant; that sending her away was unwanted, that she was a happiness to him? Claire pursed her lips before she vanished. Owen’s breath hitched before a whistle came from the kitchen. On the kitchen counter, Claire stood, tapping her heels to the beat. “Wow! When did you learn that?” he laughed. 

“I spend nearly all day alone in your apartment. I’ve learnt a thing or two,” she shrugged it off, sitting down on the countertop, her shoulders dancing to the song as it ramped up. 

“Get off the counter, I have to clean there too, you know,” he told her, but she didn’t move, her shoulder merely dancing and her eyes shutting once more, humming along to the song. 

“I know you’re only cleaning because I’m annoyed,” she scoffed, trying to hide the smug smile she was unable to contain. 

“You always eye me down when the place is a mess, I might as well clean,” Owen rolled his eyes, just as the song’s chorus roared to life in the best way possible. 

“I bless the rains down in Africa!” Claire sang loudly, and a few notes off key but she didn’t care. Neither did Owen. Added to the charm of it. 

It became harder for Owen to stay away from home; the impulse to take time off work, just to spend time near her. There were times where he felt like he needed to be there for her, others, he just wanted to be around her. But he refrained, gaining joy in the moments he got with her. It wasn’t difficult for Owen to know why it was all happening; why his heart picked up when he got to see her in the morning, or smile to himself when he heard her hum songs when she read. He found the smallest joys in the way she organised his book shelf, or the way she concentrated by twirling hair on the edge of her pinky. 

Owen had asked Claire if she wanted help - to move on, to get back to her body - he wanted to help her be happy. She just shrugged it away. Claire had better things to do with her time, apparently. Though, Owen was never quite sure what that was. 

Up late one night, Owen a few beers in and his country songs she loathed depleted, they sat up, talking in his room. Claire leaned against the frame of his bedroom door as Owen laid on his bed, face scrunched into his mattress. 

“Have you ever wondered why you can see me?” 

“Yeah. But I don’t know anything that can explain it,” he shrugged, pulling himself up and tossing himself back into his pillows. Claire sat down on the edge of his bed, sitting further away from him. 

“We didn’t know each other, did we?” Claire asked. 

“I’m sure I’d remember you,” he smiled, chuckling to himself. 

“I never lived in this apartment, or this building,” Claire remarked, looking to him, “so why am I bound to you?” Owen sighed, looking at the glow of her, the utter wonder of her. He didn’t care why….

“I don’t know. But I’m kinda glad,” he said, smiling with dazed eyes. 

“So am I,” Claire said in a soft voice. And as they looked at each other, fondness in eyes, Owen felt himself drift, taking into his sleep by the comfort of his bed and the soft cheeks of her smile. 

As the days passed, and her visits became more and more frequent, Owen couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander. 

Why  _ was _ she here? 

Not that he was complaining, not at all, but it all seemed so strange. He’d gotten so complacent, so used to her presence that he hardly thought about the fact that she wasn’t actually there anymore. Why did he never question if he was mad or if she was truly someone who was real? He couldn’t believe that she stayed, that she was really roaming his home. Owen knew he should have done this months ago; but he fell for the crying ghost of a woman, and he didn’t want it to fade. 

If he told his family or friends that he’d gone and fallen in love with a girl that possibly didn’t even exist, they’d probably have him committed. Maybe it was an injury from his army days, they’d say. It would be believable. More believable than Claire being there. He suffered with this question on his own, the fact that he may never know why Claire was hovering in his space, that she never wanted to leave. 

Despite that, each time he would wake up to her smiling at him in the morning, sunlight streaming  _ through _ her as opposed to on her, it would send him reeling. The thought of her actually waking up beside him, if the sun took the colours on her and made them brighter. He pictured more than the woman who couldn’t move on. 

“You miss it, don’t you?” he asked one day as she sat on the kitchen counter watching him peel vegetables. 

“What? Food? I’ve seen your cooking, I’ll pass.”

“I mean...living. Able to take control of this. I can see you staring at how I’m peeling this,” he said, raising his brow to challenge and Claire sighed. 

“Obviously. But I can’t do much about it.” Owen licked his lips, trying to come up with words that could apologise for pressing the matter. “But I do miss food. I miss cooking. I miss a lot of things,” she confirmed, pursing her lips and sighing a little heavier, the weight of her current existence a shell of what it once was. 

It happens again and again; a horribly predictable pattern that’s been turning since that first day he saw her. 

They spend time together, watching movies on the couch, or T.V. Not cuddling, never cuddling -  _ they can’t -  _ but sitting so close he can almost imagine the warmth that should be there instead of the cold empty air. 

As it went on, he became content, a steady sink into the feelings that he’d otherwise be drowning in, and he could barely keep his head above water. She’ll laugh, or smile or hell - she’ll break another of his stupid attempts of home deco and he’ll have to clean up the shards of glass. Owen has a theory that she does it all on purpose just to go shopping again, to pick out everything new. 

And then, as it always does, something changes and he’s sent ten steps back. Last time, it was when he leant forward only to fall through. He’d wanted to mess up her always perfect hair. 

She was gone for the rest of the day. Owen kicked himself over and over for that. Claire didn’t remember what happened to herself after that. 

The time before that, she made a bad pun and he’d instinctively thrown a cushion at her, only to hit the T.V. 

It was a day and a half that time. She was leaving less of herself, taking more to gather back and find her way...home. 

The cycle continued. 

Even as he sat on his bed, plush pillows and blankets keeping out the cold, she hovered - the imitation of lying down, but never the reality. She created the dent in sheets, the mattress taking her weight, but he knew if someone were to see it, they’d just think something was weighing it down. 

His mind begs, aches for her to answer something for him. He puts away his phone, shifting into the bed to lie beside her, and Owen puts his arm underneath his head. Claire’s brow furrowed, but she waited patiently for the question he was obviously going to ask. 

“What do you want more than anything?” Claire shifted, moving closer to him, as though it were a secret to reveal such a thing. 

“More than anything?” she asked, and Owen nodded. “I wish I could be here. Flesh and blood,” she whispered. Owen’s heart was racing, miles a minute, patting out a drumline. 

“I want that too,” he replied. Claire bit into her lip, and there was something - just for a moment - that seemed more solid, more colour was given to her and he could see through her less. 

“Why?” she waited, hope sparking in her eyes. 

“So I can kiss you,” he said. Owen wasn’t afraid to admit it, but what he was afraid of, was the likelihood that it may never happen, that he was falling for someone that wasn’t there. Claire sighed, inching forward, a heaviness hovering near his cheek. Owen shut his eyes softly, watching the moment Claire leaned in. It felt like lips, a touch so tentative and unsure, like the first kiss of teenagers unused to affection. Owen sunk into the feeling and just as depth was made, there was nothing. His eyes opened to find Claire no longer there, vanished like countless times before when they’d touched. 

Three days pass, and there was no sign of her. It wasn’t until the end of the third day, coming home to find her sitting on his kitchen counter. Owen threw his things on the breakfast table, standing a distance from her as she stood up once more. 

“Hey,” he breathed. 

“Hi,” she greeted, be it nervously, “how was your day?” she asked, waiting a beat. Owen raced over to her, hands instinctively going for her cheeks, but knowing he was unable to do it. He wanted to touch her. 

“I wanted to see you so badly,” he breathed out and Claire nodded, eyes desperate and on the edge of tears. 

“I want to be able to touch you,” she whimpered, her hands grasping at the air between them. “I wonder what you feel like? How soft is your skin? Are your hands rough and weathered like I think they are?” she replied, breathing heavy and desperate and Owen felt the same. 

“If I could,” Owen started, voice shaking, eyes closed and hands trembling to keep away from her. He wanted to touch her, feel what she truly felt like. “I’d never let you know how it felt to be touched by anyone else. I wish I could touch you,” he told her. 

“Owen,” she whispered, her own voice shaking.  “I…” she stopped, desperate to say it but the words wouldn’t form. 

“I know. I do too,” he nodded, the words failing him as well. Claire swallows the visible fear she had in that moment.

“Don’t move,” she told him. He did as she asked, closing his eyes and waiting. Within a few moments, her lips were on his, like he remembered. Barely there, but beautiful nonetheless. 

Owen couldn’t help himself; he kissed her back, hand gripping hard into her coat. Over and over he kissed her, the softness of her lips making him far more tender than he wanted; because he desperately wanted her to know that he was craving her with everything he had. It wasn’t until their kiss parted that they fully realised something. 

Looking back at each other, Owen’s hand was still bound in Claire’s coat, her hands were pressed to his chest. They were touching. And she wasn’t disappearing. Neither of them had words, smiling and laughing at the miracle of it. Owen didn’t waste his time, he pulled her back in, hand snaking around her back, and pinning her to his chest. Lips were fast to bond with hers, taking every opportunity to kiss her like she was right there. Claire did the same, hands in his hair, soft moans of approval and binding fingers into his clothes. 

Claire clutched onto reality, making it her own for the first time in months. Owen was glad he was her fixed point. 

The rest of the night, they didn’t stop touching each other. Owen was laid beside her, watching each other with loving hearts and smiles that echoed that of depth. They didn’t want to ruin it with words. Claire’s hand rested on his cheek, thumb running over his lips. He kissed at her thumb delicately, and Claire chuckled at the feeling. He was so exhausted, but he didn’t want to lose sight of her for a moment. But his eyes were failing him more and more. 

“I need to tell you something,” Claire whispered. 

“Shoot,” Owen muttered, shifting into the comfort of his bed more. 

“I’ll...I’ll tell you in the morning,” she said, leaning in and stealing a small kiss on his lips. He smiled. 

“M’kay,” he replied, tired and drifting into sleep. He remembered how soft her skin felt until her palm. He remembered the feeling of wanting a life next to that skin. 

When he woke, he was alone, abandoned in his bed. Hitching himself up, Owen yawned, stretching and remembering the night before. He furrowed his brow as he heard nothing around, no sound that Claire was hovering around, ready to brighten up his day. 

“Claire?” he called. No response. Owen wrenched himself from his bed, racing across his apartment. “Claire!” he called out again, desperate and scared. Nothing. She was gone. 

Days passed. Weeks. Then a month. Claire hadn’t come back. There were times where he could cope; he told himself she’d be back that night. She never was. On his bad days, tears that wouldn’t stop, and his heart aching for relief. He wanted her back. He had happiness ripped from him when he barely had his fingers around it. Claire was his safe place. His home. And everything was missing. Drinking didn’t help, but he always seemed to forget that when he went for another beer those bad days. 

“Please come back,” he muttered, taking another sip at his beer before rolling over in his bed, trying to remember what it felt like to have her resting beside him, the smile on her lips that made his heart skip a beat. 

He didn’t find out what happened to her; Owen didn’t have information to find her, and that may have been Claire’s plan. All Owen wanted to do, however, was find out what happened. Why she left, if she had truly died, or if there was the possibility of hope. Yet, he never got that chance, the longing for her never fading. She held a place within him that would always stay. 

He would pass by women, the soft giggles, the red hair catching his sight in the swarms of people, the scent of vanilla from cafes or perfume. Songs that she would hum and her favourite books in his apartment. The voice that would catch in the wind...even light filtering in from his window. 

Everything felt like her. But she wasn’t there. She would only linger. 


	3. Longing (pt2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Claire’s disappearance, Owen longs for something more. He longs for Claire.  
> (Lingering Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta was unavailable, so if there are mistakes, look at me….but also don’t.  
> CONTENT WARNING: EXPLICIT. (aka. smut for....reasons)

A part of Owen always felt lost, adrift to the winds of a lost love. It wasn’t meant to be like this. He was meant to have a happy ending, a thrilling life, even if it was with someone who wasn’t there. No matter how much he searched, he couldn’t find Claire. Women that looked like her, sounded like her, smelled like her; he tried to find her in them, but nothing about them made him crave them. 

She lingered. 

In the air, he felt her. 

In the light of morning, or the dull shades of the afternoon, he saw her. 

In his bed. He remembered her. 

Owen often had to remind himself - convince himself - that she was just his imagination, that she was nothing more than the company he desperately craved. Owen made her up. It was the truth of it. He was haunted by a woman who could not exist. Women passed into his life, staying no longer than a month - he was lucky if they stayed more than the night. There were times where he wanted more, but knew he wasn’t used for anything more than a night of pleasure. Holding onto a person was impossible - he tried finding a woman like his imagination, but such a person couldn’t exist. 

The hair, beaming like fire. 

Eyes like an ocean’s surface. 

Lips that curved into a sweeping smile. 

Women came with them all, but they never truly captured the depth of Claire. It was hard for Owen, to distance himself from the thought of her. With months, and girlfriends that paled in comparison, he still  _ tried _ . Owing it to himself, he tried so goddamn hard. He pushed through the aching of his heart. The way it always lurched when he saw red hair slipping over shoulders, just the right shade of ember hitting the sunlight. The hammering that hurled through him as he smelled vanilla in the air. He couldn’t even listen to Toto anymore.

It was his own fault, the doting on an invisible figure, a figment that he was never able to fully grasp. Claire felt like she was there for a moment before she disappeared; but months made him fall for his insanity. He often wanted to believe she was real, that he had kissed her with everything he had because he could finally hold her. But, it was a dream of happiness that slipped past him, something he could have in time if he gave himself over to it. 

Yet, Owen longed for Claire. 

Nearly a year since he last saw her, months of wanting more, nights staying awake just to see if she’d appear in thin air. Wishing never made her return, rational thought won out in the end, but the longing lingered in his blood. He reached for something that was untouchable. The thing he wished for more than her, was for the feeling to fade. 

It did, until the days he was reminded of her. Thick laughs, smiles that were too bright for their own good - sometimes it was simply just light coming in from his window. No one knew how to help, tried to get Owen out of his shell, until they forced him to go on dates. They invited him every week, taking him out of his apartment and whisking him to dinner with someone he knew nothing about, or to bars filled with women of his choosing. 

Nights last into weeks, or the nights only lasted hours. He still felt lonely, and they had their fun while it lasted. He tried. No matter what, he always tried. _ I’m moving on,  _ Owen reminded himself. But he got tugged to his low points by something. And yeah, the last few months were easier on him, but he still had his bad days. 

When the night of Claire’s disappearance rolled around, Owen didn’t exactly feel up to getting out of the house. He knew he should - the perfect night to get away from the thought of her - moving on, right? Yet, he got home and didn’t feel like moving, his time passing by as he remembered the happiness that once bounded across his apartment. Looking at the apartment pages that he had printed on his counter...he knew he needed to take more seriously. It needed to be time. 

Going to sit at his laptop, a knock came to his door. Narrowing his brow, he walked to the door, to see Zia and Franklin walking into his apartment. Though Franklin seemed far more reserved than Zia, they both walked in stern in their conviction. 

“It’s time to go, Grady!” Zia announced. Owen started working security at their science building, and he managed to get along with both. And yeah, he talked about his hard times with Zia, and she tried to set him up with people, and he may have suggested Zia date some of the girls he did. In some cases, they were better dates for Zia. 

“Zia,” Owen warned. 

“Come on, Owen! You need to get out there,” she said, trying to shove him into his bedroom. 

“I don’t feel like it this week, guys,” Owen said, scratching the back of his head.

“No questions, take him into the bathroom and strip him,” Zia instructed Franklin. The nervous one of the pair backed up. 

“You do it,” he argued. 

“There’s a reason I’m gay. I never want to see a naked man in my life,” Zia said, raising her brow. Owen groaned, turning back to them. 

“Fine, just...wait out here, will you?” he asked and Zia cheered, punching at Franklin’s shoulder. 

Getting changed, they went out to a bar that Owen wouldn’t normally go to. It wasn’t his scene; Owen felt out of his element. He was in his thirties, surrounded by people in their twenties or just a few years off being his age. He felt like he was in a playground and he was no longer one of the kids that could fit down the slide. It was off putting and lonely. 

Owen drank with Zia and Franklin for a time, the timid Franklin loosening up and going up to women he may not even consider talking to sober, and Zia - confident as always - went up to anyone and everyone. Taking a sip of his drink, he saw the glimpse of red hair, put up in a ponytail and swaying as the person walked. Owen swallowed hard. He shouldn’t be out this night. 

Pushing through the crowd, trying to get the other end of the bar where an open and lonely spot sat - he could get Zia or Franklin’s attention there to tell him them was leaving. It was then that he was captivated by a scent that lingered in the air. It was the smell of perfume that made him turn. Vanilla. Fuck. He should get out of there soon. Owen’s stomach was doing flips, dragging him to chase the smell, but he couldn’t do it. He downed the remaining beer in his glass and put it on the bar. 

He shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted another, but something made Owen look across the bar. A wickedly loud, obnoxious laugh, one that this woman couldn’t contain. It was like a hyena cackling, but a sweetness to its bite. Craning his neck, he saw the flash of red hair, he hoped - no, prayed - that something familiar was there. Then, she turned to face whoever she was with. The button nose, the freckles scattered across her cheeks, soft features, and that damn smile. It was her. 

But it couldn’t be. 

Could it?

Fuck. 

Owen clenched his fists shut. 

Asking for another drink, there was something in the back of Owen’s mind that was going nuts.  _ Gather your courage kid - we’ve got this. Just ask.  _ Owen made his way through the bar, trying his best to seem less creepy for staring, he walked to where she was. The woman ordered, not paying him any attention until the last second where she looked at him twice.

“Hi,” he greeted, hopeful for a split second. She looked exactly like Claire - from head to toe. Yeah, she wore different clothes and some of her features were different, like how she styled her hair, but it was her. She wore a wrap dress, bright with a colourful pattern that he couldn’t make out. To be frank, this woman was glowing. 

“Hi,” she smiled politely, before uncomfortably shifting, “can I help you with something?” 

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he said, furrowing his brow. She turned to him, looking him over before shaking her head. 

“I’m sure I’d remember you,” she replied, cautious in her words. 

“My mistake,” he replied. He felt like he’d been kicked in the shin, hopes dashed quickly. Owen really wanted to get out of there now. “Have a nice night,” he said, trying to step away. 

“Wait,” she spoke, hand touching lightly at his forearm,“you can buy me a drink, and I’ll ask you your name?” she said, biting at her lip. He stepped back towards her. 

“Will the name mean anything?” he asked. She shrugged.

“It could,” she challenged. Everything about her, the way she talked, the way she stood her ground - the way she never let anything be easy - everything about her was - 

“Owen,” he said. 

“Claire,” she greeted. Could it really be her? Hell, Owen wanted it, but he didn’t even think it was possible. Owen felt everything freeze before his heart started to hammer. He smiled, and the echo of an equally eager smile appeared on her face. 

“Good to meet you,” he said, sipping at his drink just as Claire hissed in pain, putting her palm to her temple, “are you okay?” Owen asked, putting his drink on the bar and leaning closer to her.

“It’s just a headache, I’ll be fin-” she started before she keeled over. Owen caught Claire on her way down, putting her head on his shoulder. 

“Claire!” someone called. A woman rushed over, older than Claire, but they looked similar. “What happened? I’m her sister,” she explained, her hands on her sister’s face as she looked Claire over. 

“We were just talking and she went down,” Owen explained. 

“Claire! Claire, can you hear me?” The woman started to pat Claire’s face, trying to ruse her from whatever state she was in. 

“Let’s take her outside, maybe fresh air will help,” Owen suggested and Claire’s sister nodded. 

“Thank you, I’m going to call 911,” she said, pulling out her phone. Owen picked up Claire, helping her outside and onto a nearby bench. Owen sat with Claire’s sister, Karen, for some time. The older sister was panicking, and Owen couldn’t very well leave her there whilst her sister was passed out. 

Calming her down, Owen managed to get some information - that Claire hadn’t bee well for a while, and that this was her first night out. It was supposed to be a fine night, then this happened. For some reason, Owen felt responsible. He didn’t have all the information; he was left just as in the dark as Karen was. Yet, after the heartache and pain of losing Claire, this Claire could be his, or she could be what he was searching for. It didn’t matter, he was only there for a moment. 

As the ambulance pulled up, Claire started to stir, making Owen lean down next to the bench. “Uh..Karen, I think she’s waking up,” Owen called out. 

“Claire!” Karen yelled, rushing the paramedics to Claire’s side. “Hey sweetie, are you okay?” she asked, her sister’s eyes barely opening before she winced and started to sit up. 

“Yeah...yeah,” she tried, but the sluggish way her words came out may have proved otherwise. Her head still seemed to be troubling her, hand pressed to her temple as if it cause some relief. Then, Claire turned to him, and he caught his breath. Damn those blue eyes. It wasn’t fair. Why did she have to look so much like her? “Owen?” she asked and Owen nodded.

“Yeah, from inside,” he remarked. As she looked at him, a searching look in her eyes, Owen felt his heart twist into discomfort. He stood up, patting Karen’s shoulder. “I should let you go,” he said, trying his hardest to smile, but his lips went tight, and he awkwardly walked away, going to down the street and messaging Zia and Franklin.

It took Owen a day to realise he needed a change. Everything in his life was pointing to the fact that he wasn’t built to revolve around this fantasy. Owen started to go through new apartments, better ones for cash, some with a larger floor plan. It took him a week to realise he should have done this all sooner. His saturday was now filled with new apartment locations, the pros and cons of each place, and the likelihood that he was going to have to hire people to help him move. 

It was that night, with stress furrowed in his brow, tightening his shoulder blades and making his leg jump, that a knock came to his door. He usually had to ring them up, so this was a strange occurrence. His neighbours had seen him look like this before, sweats that should have been washed and a t-shirt that probably should have gone one size ago, so he didn’t care that much when he opened the door. Instead, he found Claire to be standing there, jeans and blouse with a jacket that made her look relaxed yet refined. He hated that she was still gorgeous. Always gorgeous. Made things harder. Owen brought in a tight breath. 

“Hey, Owen,” she greeted, smiling, be it nervously. 

“Do I…” Owen trailed, not know what to say. How was he meant to behave? If she was truly just a girl he met that night, it would be incredibly odd to have her show up like this. Claire scoffed, pointing inside his apartment. 

“What? Do I need to sing Africa on your kitchen counter again?” she commented, laughing a little as she let the words sink. 

“It can’t be you, though,” he muttered allowed, his disbelief spilling from his mouth before he could reign it in. Claire became small, her shoulders curling inwards, and her arms wrapping around herself. 

“I thought it was a dream. Something from when I was unconscious. Maybe I should explain things,” she started, and Owen nodded, allowing her inside. She glanced around briefly, as though she was recognising the place, before sitting in her favourite spot on the couch. Owen cleaned up his coffee table, hiding the fact that he was moving - rather poorly, but still hiding - and Claire cleared her throat. 

“So, what do you...remember?” Owen asked carefully. Claire sighed, leaning back into her spot like she had done countless times before, and she told him everything. 

 

*~*~*

 

Claire had meeting after meeting the week leading up to her accident - the repetition blurring days into one another, she could barely recognise her week as such. She liked her job, working hard to get higher; Claire was going to be the boss, and that was all she ever thought about. 

Her phone blared for the umpteenth time, and she was sick of it. It was a Friday, this was her time off, she didn’t need the pestered. She was reaching for the damn thing when headlights blinded her, and that’s the last of what she remembered. Everything from the crash became a blur of pain and aches, and then everything was dark. 

Well….she thought it was. 

The first place she found herself was an apartment, standing front of a man that looked like he had seen a ghost. It was only briefly after that when she realised she was said ghost. It took days for her to realise she wasn’t there for as long as she thought she was; weeks had passed by from when Claire first appeared, and to where he spoke to her. 

Owen. 

The man she terrified was Owen. 

Claire got her bearings, pushing herself to see others, but no matter how many times she saw her sister, her mother or father; none of them saw her like Owen. So, he became her refuge. The loneliness of being ignored vanished with him, as he stayed with her against his better wishes. 

Waking moments and drifting sleep came a longing, a wishing for more. When he touched her, she could feel the essence of it; how his fingers would have bound into her if he could. But, in the midst of the confusion, Claire was feeling solid, not so adrift. And yet, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like something was in her throat, stopping her from capturing air until she wound up back at Owen’s apartment. 

Claire craved the moments she got to spend with Owen, the moments where he looked at her like she was alive, and that she was there. There were moments where she felt alive, more than what she thought being alive was; because he looked at her like he could bound over the couch to chase her. In those moments, she realised what was happening to them both. 

She was making him crave her. 

And Claire was feeling more human for it. 

It wasn’t fair - because she fell into it; lost in the way he stared, or the smiles he gave. Owen would always be tender, joke, make her feel comfortable and never pushed her. Claire felt like she was losing herself every time they would pass through each other. She couldn’t tell Owen what was happening; that she was struggling to breathe more and more, that there was an end in sight for whenever he touched her

They knew, falling into each other and longing for the it, that they both couldn’t live like this. They wanted more. Owen wanted to touch her. Claire wanted to be touched. The moment where he told her everything he wanted, that their lips touched, Claire felt her heart race. A racing heart of a living person. 

No longer in Owen’s apartment, Claire felt different. She felt it; the feeling of her fingers touching, the pump of air forced into her, the choke as she tried to breathe. When she tried her eyes, they were blinded by white, and she sunk back into the void. It was clear; she was stuck. One more touch would pull her back. 

It was strange when she found herself back in Owen’s apartment; the air felt different. She felt more present, and yet taken from its interior all at once. This...was her last time there. Waiting on Owen’s kitchen counter, he opened the door after his day and threw his things down as he saw her. She stood, waiting for either of them to do something. It was Owen who reacted first. 

“Hey,” he said, breathless and wide eyed. Claire didn’t know how to reply. She didn’t know how any days had passed, but she knew she was gone. 

“Hi,” she said, unsure of herself, “how was your day?” she asked, the words so wrong, yet the only thing she could think to ask. Owen was fast to the close the distance, his hands ready to touch her, and all she wanted was for them to hold her like she wanted. But they stayed away, desperate to keep there and hold her all in one.

“I wanted to see you so badly,” he said, voice cracking and on edge. Claire felt it, nodding to try and keep the tears from sliding down her fact. 

“I want to be able to touch you,” she whimpered, her hands grasping at the air between them. “I wonder what you feel like? How soft is your skin? Are your hands rough and weathered like I think they are?” she said, finally voicing the soft desires she kept buried. 

“If I could,” Owen started, voice shaking, eyes closed and hands trembling to keep away from her. Oh, how Claire wanted that touch, the feel of him on her. “I’d never let you know how it felt to be touched by anyone else. I wish I could touch you,” he told her. Claire swallowed hard. 

“Owen,” she whispered, voice shaking as she wanted to reveal more. “I…” she stopped, the words unable to leave. How could she tell him when she wasn’t there? How can the word love exist when they had so much left to say?

“I know. I do too,” he nodded, and Claire felt herself lose the essence of fear; everything she was holding back she was letting slip through - she wasn’t scared to tell him, or scared to live. 

“Don’t move,” she told him. Owen did as she asked, closing his eyes and staying as still as possible. Claire took a breath, stepping in and taking his lips with hers; if this was her last day - her last moment - she wanted to make it count. He felt soft, that he was stilled because of her, and did not want to lose the feeling. 

In a moment, she felt him go from the tenderness of a kiss to the roughness of a longing one; that made him so desperate that he had to hold her. And that was exactly what he was doing, hands bound in her coat and kissing her just as vigorously as she wanted to be kissed the first time. When Owen pulled away, Claire made sure her hands were still touching his chest, because...she knew something was different this time. 

They were touching. They were held in each other’s arms, bound together for the first time. Claire was no longer lost to him, and she felt like a person. They were smiling and laughing, brink of tears as they collided together, kissing once more, falling around his apartment as they became intense. She remembered the feeling of his hair between her fingers, how much softer it was than her expectations. She moaned in approval, spurring him on with every pull on his clothes and hair. 

Claire took hold of reality - this reality - with both hands, binding herself to him. She liked that Owen was her final fixed point. 

They stayed silent the rest of the afternoon and night. Stealing kisses, and never once letting themselves stop touching. Owen’s hand liked running up her waist, and Claire couldn’t help but let her fingers run over his stubble, memorising the roughness of his features. 

Claire’s hand rested on his cheek, thumb running over his lips. He kissed at her hand, eyes glazing shut before trying to stay open once more. Claire shook her head; he was obviously tired after his day, and needed sleep. Claire’s hand soothed him to shut his eyes once more. Chewing on her lip, Claire pressed forward; she could tell him….tell him that she thought she was alive. 

“I need to tell you something,” Claire whispered. 

“Shoot,” Owen mumbled, moving into his sheets more. 

“I’ll...I’ll tell you in the morning,” she stuttered. She couldn’t tell him when she didn’t know for sure. What if something went wrong and really did die? She couldn’t take the chance that he had hope and lost it all in one moment. Maybe this was for the best. He smiled after she placed the softest kiss to his lips. 

“M’kay,” he replied, tired and drifting into sleep. Claire watched as his chest rose and fell, and watched as her hand faded from his cheek, the smile of his stealing a place in her heart. 

Claire was jolted awake, unable to stop choking as the intubation tube was half way down her throat. Her hands clutched into her sheets, trying to stay calm as she came to terms with waking. The memory of her dream faded in an instance, and she was acutely aware that she was in pain in odd places and unable to breathe how she wanted. Nurses and doctors came into her room, telling her to be calm as they removed the tube and everything was clear by the features of her room. She had been asleep for a very long time. 

Six Months to be more exact. The accident had a horrible effect on Claire, induced coma that reduced swelling of her brain, then waiting for her to wake up was the next thing next to her physical injuries. Her legs had fractured in a number of places, her wrist had a nasty break, and some internal bleeding they managed to keep under control. 

All the while, Claire was dreaming of a man that she felt like she knew, body and soul. But every day became harder and harder to remember; his name, his voice, his face. Everything became a blur. She remembered things they did, talking, dancing, almost touching. Then, it was slipping from her more and more. Her physical recovery was taking time and energy and she had no time to think of him. In the end, he only became a dream she longed for. 

Over the months of her recovery, Claire began to think of her dreams. As much as she tried to pull them back, remember the face of the man she was fully in love with, they slipped right past her like sand through fingers. Regaining her functions, she let herself recover without dwelling on them. Relearning things, getting adjusted back into her life, she came to know of her time asleep as as a blank slate; a time where she could be someone else, and her dreams let her be that. Claire eventually forgot her dreams, everything about them was gone, but she knew she missed them. 

But dreams slip by, they don’t remain - the harder one longs for them, the easier it is to forget they even existed. Claire missed them. But she no longer chased them. 

The moments alone, she longed for the dreams that she had forgotten. The presence of something - of someone - that would have made her feel weightless. Voicing her thoughts to a therapist and to Karen, they both suggested that she tried to get out more, go to bars, go on dating apps; try to find something she may have missed from before her accident and longed for in her dreams. 

When she finally went out with Karen, she met a man that made her feel safe and comfort for the first time with a stranger. He smiled like he was seeing something that he had wanted, that she was not something to lust over - but something he’d die for. He introduced himself, smiling and making her feel welcome and tender. Then...her head started to press. The smile, the way he moved around her, the way he spoke. The tenderness of him when he was scared of pushing. The things he was doing...everything was like a dream of someone she wanted. 

Falling like a tree, she was out for some time. But, in the midst of it, she remembered the little things, how his name was Owen, how he had days where he smiled so wide, it made her own cheeks hurt. And she remembered the way he kissed her. Waking up next to him, she felt like she was living her dream. And then he was gone. Leaving her watching him walk away. 

It was now that Claire longed for a reality that she could hold onto. Pushing herself to her limits of working, she remembered everything she could about him, his name, where he lived, the place he worked, or had worked and made sure she found out where she could find him. She wasn’t losing him like he lost her. 

Then, she sat in his apartment, explaining everything from the started. The accident, the dreams, the feeling like she was alive and the last night together. Right up until the night they met once more. 

“My head was aching, and I fell, and then...I remembered. Like that,” she snapped her fingers, “I remembered everything,” she shrugged, her hands playing with one another as Owen’s hands wiped over his face and he relaxed into his spot. His hand was still covering his mouth in disbelief. 

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he said, still coming to terms with everything, “do you want a drink?” he asked with a sigh and Claire shook her head.

“No, I’m alright,” she said, clearing her throat, “I just wanted to see how you were,” she said. Owen nodded, only to adjust his position, each elbow on each knee. 

“You were going to tell me, that you thought you were alive, weren’t you?” he asked, Claire nodded as her reply. “Why…” he stopped himself short, the likelihood that he would get more frustrated was high. 

“I didn’t want my last words to you to be some of hope. I didn’t know if something was going to go wrong. I was barely able to hold onto the moments I had...if I died, giving you hope, only for it go in an instant, I’d hate myself forever,” she explained, looking down at her hands. She wasn’t sure why she felt so self conscious, that she couldn’t bear to tell him everything without feeling shame. He knew her better than most, and yet, she was still scared to be open. 

“Are...are you doing okay?” he stuttered. Claire looked up at him, worry etched into his brow and sparkling in his eyes. Claire swallowed, smiling ently. 

“I’m okay,” she confirmed and Owen finally smiled back at her. 

 

*~*~*

 

Owen and Claire continued to talk most of the night, Owen explaining a few things going on in his life and asking Claire a few questions when he got curious about her recovery. Claire was doing fine, back at work with less stress, but still feeling a little lost. Understanding that all too well, Owen told her it would ease and that she’d be back to her old self. 

And yet, Owen knew nothing about her. 

Their lives would part the minute she walked out the door, and it was possibly why the conversation didn’t end, even when they thought they had nothing else to talk about. They made idle conversation to waste time and bring up memories that still hurt both of them - just so they wouldn’t have to leave. Owen wasn’t sure how he was supposed to handle any of this, he was confused, but wanted her anyway. Despite not knowing her, despite the distance that a year made, despite everything; Owen wanted Claire. 

“Are you moving?” she asked, pointing to his notes. 

“Thinking about it,” he nodded, “it was a tough year. Seeing as how most of the stuff in this place reminded me of you, it was hard moving on,” he said, and glancing at Claire, he saw the guilt that she swallowed, the shame in her eyes as she looked away from him. “Sorry, it’s not that I blame you. It was just...a hard year,” he explained and Claire nodded back. 

“I understand,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip before clearing her throat. “Will you be apartment searching now?” she asked, the hope obvious in her voice, but Owen suspected she may have wanted to hide it by the rosy cheeks she had. 

“Maybe. I’m still unsure of what the future holds now,” Owen smiled. Claire smiled back and they continued to talk over making dinner, dinner and cleaning up. Owen liked how comfortable it all felt, doing all of this with her without it feeling forced. Even though they were like strangers, the months of confinement together, they knew each other’s patterns more than they had believed. 

When it reached an hour that they couldn’t keep from, Claire started towards the door and Owen took careful steps. He wondered if watching her go would hurt less than just having her disappear. 

“I’m sorry the last year has been hard for you,” Claire apologised, stopping at the threshold of the door. 

“You have nothing to apologise for. It wasn’t like you asked for any of it,” Owen said, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. 

“Still,” Claire tried, though she still seemed unsure of what to say. Maybe she just wanted more time but wasn’t aware that she could ask him the simple question: did he still feel the same from a year ago. He knew his answer, and she could stay with it if she wanted. 

“Claire, you were recovering from a car accident for a year, you get to just let things like this slide,” Owen joked, reassuring her. Claire smiled, laughing a little. 

“It feels like I was a shitty girlfriend that just disappeared and came back,” she said, her laughter dying slightly. They both caught the word, not wanting to disturbing what it meant for them. But they both wanted it to mean more. 

“At least you came back to explain everything,” Owen said, nodding to her and Claire took it, but bit her lip before she looked back at him.

“Yeah,” she muttered in a breath. 

“I guess, this is goodbye then?” he said, unsure. Claire chuckled softly. 

“For now.” 

Neither of them moved, dared to make the first step away from the other. So, Owen did the only thing he could think of. He surged forward, clasping his lips to hers and catching her off guard. She squeaked against his mouth before responding, trying to deepen their kiss. Everything she was holding onto dropped from her hands, and Owen backed her up against the wall. He wasn’t losing her again. He’d been longing for a touch, a kiss that had stained his lips for months on end. 

Longing for how his fingers would feel as they dug into her hips, grabbing at her waist as he pulled her flush against his chest.

“You still feel the same,” Claire breathed before Owen stole her lips once more. He wasn’t letting her fade away from him this time. 

Owen unbuttoned her blouse as Claire wrenched his shirt over his head. It was clear what they both wanted to do and they weren’t turning back for anything. Stripping her out of her top, her brought them together for a moment, to feel her skin against his own before bending to hook his arm under her knees. She quickly tightened her legs around his waist and he planted her straight back against the wall, his hips involuntarily shifting up as if to meet her. 

“Bedroom,” Claire mumbled against his mouth, and Owen nodded, dragging them both there, falling to the wall as he wanted to feel her waist and hips just that little bit more. 

They barely made it to the threshold of his bedroom when Claire climbed out from his embrace and took the reins. Claire backed Owen up to the wall this time, stripping his pants and boxers down to his ankles. Owen stepped out of them as Claire pushed his hips up against the wall. Looking down at her, Claire smirked, the devilish look in her eyes made his cock twitch. On her knees, Claire delicately took hold of his shaft, licking at her lips before her tongue circled his tip. Owen thought he may fall to his knees if she just teased him like that. 

Lips wrapping around him, Owen let his head fall back, eyes tight as her mouth worked him. He felt like his breath was constantly caught in his throat, his cock getting harder as she ran her lips over his shaft, tongue teasing at his skin and playing with the fluttering feeling in his heart. Combing the hair out of her face, Claire’s eyes stared up at him, and Owen knew he was going to break because of those sinful eyes. 

But that may have been the blowjob talking. 

Owen swore when he lips made a pop, leaving him breathless and chasing the feeling of her. Claire giggled.

“Easy, soldier. We have a while to go yet,” Claire smirked, letting her thumb glide over the edge of her lips. 

“Come here,” he said, the grunt in his voice making his hands go tight. Claire shook her head, nipping at her bottom lip as she walked backwards. Owen caught onto her waist, making her sit on the edge of the bed as he unbuttoned her jeans, dragging them down as Claire pushed herself further up the bed. Looking at her in just her underwear, Owen growled deep in his chest. Snaking his way up the bed, peppering kisses up her knees and thighs until his fingers caught the edge of her panties. Dragging them from her hips, until they slipped past her ankles, Owen grinned as he hooked one of Claire’s legs over his shoulder. 

Owen tasted her quickly, and there was so much to take - she was wet, soaking when his mouth caught on those lips. Claire gasped, hand reaching down to his hair and pulling him toward her heat. Owen felt like devouring her. Arms hooked around her legs, hand laid flat on her stomach - feeling the shallow breaths she took as his tongue tasted her - the other crawled up her body, feeling the curves until he reached her breast, hand slipping underneath her bra.

“Oh, god!” she cried, her hand covering her mouth, Owen’s fingers pinching at her nipple. Owen sucked at her clit, tongue teasing and dancing over the sensitive nub and Claire squirmed, whining as he didn’t relent. Claire’s hips started to circle, moving in time with his tongue, edging herself to get more pleasure from his mouth. Taking his hand from her stomach, Owen slipped his middle finger inside her, hearing her gasp and Owen smirked against her.

As his mouth worked her clit, sucking and nipping at the little bundle of nerves that made her jump, Owen slipped his ring finger inside her, moving his hand to help rock against her hips. Owen moaned against her, and Claire’s response was like a choir to his ears; the softest moan that turned desperate as she tried to hide it. Owen didn’t let up, he loved hearing the sounds of her strangled moans as his fingers went harder and faster, his tongue teasing more and more. She was a symphony, and he could listen to her all night. 

With his fingers inside her, curling and letting her thrust against his hand, he watched her over her stomach as she came apart; the desperate way she clawed at his arm as she tried to stop herself from calling out. It didn’t stop her from doing it, her back arching as her orgasm broke. Her body started to shake, thighs tight around his head, fingers shaking in his hair. Finally collapsing into the bed, Claire panted, heavy and heated breaths. Owen moved up the bed, kissing at her stomach, breasts and her face.

“That…” she breathed, “was uncalled for,” she said, panting and laughing. 

“What? You want to cum harder?” Owen smirked, sucking at his fingers. 

“I want you inside me, not just your fingers,” Claire laughed, turning onto her stomach as she reached over to his bedside table, hand roaming the drawer until she found the condom. Owen narrowed his eyes. “I went through your drawers a lot,” Claire said over her shoulder, leaning on her elbows as she unclasped her bra.

“I knew it,” Owen said, voice muffled by the condom wrapped in between his teeth. Tearing the edge, he unsheathed it, guiding it over his cock and positioning himself above Claire, hands next to her elbows. 

“I was bored. Sue me,” she said, letting out a satisfied noise as his cock teased at her entrance. 

“I don’t know if you being a ghost will hold up in court,” Owen chuckled and Claire let out a soft laugh, rising on her hands to lift herself up to him, both on their knees, willing and ready for what they had in store. 

Letting his tip run over her entrance again, both groaning just before he sunk inside her. Claire relented, fall back into her elbows and clutching at Owen’s hand. Fingers curled together as Owen thrust into her, slow movements to allow Claire to adjust to him. It didn’t take long for both of them to roll their hips in time with one another. Leaning over her, Owen kissed up Claire’s shoulder, smothering her neck with his lips, tasting every last inch of her if he had to. Being inside her was like a missing piece, finally fitting into place; both made for each other, perfectly put back together once more.

Claire moved into him, moaning as she found her pleasure at the base of his shaft. Claire’s free hand reached back, pulling on Owen’s hip as he gave short thrusts into her with all the need he had. It wasn’t long before Owen pulled Claire up to her surprised, holding her steady on their knees as he continued to thrust deep into her. Claire liked the change, her moans getting more intense and her body responding in time to his own. Snaking his hand down her stomach, his fingers played with her clit and she bucked up against him, whining at the sensation, backing into him as though to avoid his fingers.

Instead, Owen kept up his pace, making Claire whimper and moan his name, beg for her release in small pray-like mutters as he didn’t stop. His fingers circled her clit, thrusts maintaining a rhythm to match the swirl of her hips; together, it was like magic. It wasn’t long before he could feel the shake in Claire’s thigh, the hiccup in her breathing and the way she grabbed onto the back of his neck - she was on the verge of ecstasy and she wasn’t going to stand for it. Without much more effort, Claire squeaked out a moan, almost completely falling to the bed before Owen caught her. 

Letting Claire lean back into the bed and fall down on it completely, she laid on her back, breathing hard as her shoulders arched and her smile widened. Owen wasn’t done, and even with Claire panting, there was a fire behind her eyes; eager for so much more. There were unspoken words as Owen entered her again. 

_ “Go easy on me,” _ her hand said, dancing on the pit of his stomach. 

_ “Always,” _ said the soft touch on her waist. 

Their pace was much slower this time, as though it were their first. Claire’s breast still heaved and Owen wanted more than anything to clasp his mouth over her tantalising nipple, but he refrained, opting instead to just watch her as her brow furrowed and her body became comfortable with its new found wanting in this position. Claire’s legs laid over his hips, Owen adjusting them higher as he used them to push himself forward, reaching the hilt of his shaft and hearing her moan. It was like a drug that no one but him could try. 

Letting restrain fly out the window, Owen quickened his pace, Claire’s breathing becoming louder, replacing moans. He watched as she squirmed, arching her back in want and Owen couldn’t help himself. Leaning down, stealing her lips, Owen kept his pace and felt the silenced moans she wanted to cry but never reveal to the world. They were only meant for him. Their bodies moved together, desperate for more, unwilling to yield to the other. In between their kisses, Owen sucked on her breast, teeth teasing at her nipple, moaning into her skin as he finally found the small craving he had neglected to watch her. 

Soon, foreheads resting against one another once more, they were both struggling to keep themselves in time with one another. Movements were clumsy, needier than ever. They were reaching their end. Their moans became less wanting - a need in them, as they weakened in resolve and strengthened in pitch. Owen groaned, trying to maintain an ounce of composure, but it was no use. He could feel the heat in the pit of his stomach, the coil at the base of his spine tightening, and everything in him begging for Claire. Her walls clamped down over his cock, and before he could even realise it, she was screaming out his name, her climax reached and soon his own followed. 

They rocked against each other, riding out the last moment of their orgasms, heavy petting and light kisses. They finally experienced a touch they had craved for months, and the wait had been torture. This - a moment stuck in time as perfection for them - was a heaven that no man could describe. It was more than sex; it was longing for something they could not do alone by the touch of their hands. Their skin had to be next to each other, it had to be heated to make sure they were still with one another. 

They were alive. And they loved each other fiercely.

Owen curled his arms around her, bringing her into his chest as he kissed her. He may have been exhausted, completely spent from sex, but he couldn’t keep himself from loving her. Kissing her over and over again, he held her in his arms, letting them wander as they breathed harsh breaths. Claire’s hands were tender on his shoulders, kissing him with just the same vigor as he was kissing her. 

In the silence of the bed, their sides so perfectly molded to them, Claire rested her eyes, only opening them when she could feel Owen staring. He wasn’t able to help himself. Curled up beside her, he was captivated by the look of her; hair a mess, still looking gorgeous in the afterglow of it all. Most of all, he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t fall asleep in case she slipped from his sights again. 

“You can go to sleep,” Claire laughed, her hands over her face. Owen delicately took her hands, kissing at her fingers.

“I’m not risking it,” he whispered. Claire laughed, her face growing rosy and hiding in her pillow briefly. He wondered if anyone had shown her affection like it before. He hated it if they hadn’t. 

“It’s weird having someone stare at you as you go to sleep,” she said, hand running across his jaw and tracing her thumb over his lip. 

“How the tables have turned,” Owen smirked, and Claire scoffed, hitting him in the collar. 

“Shut up,” she muttered, but her mood shifted as she looked up at him, “are you...really that scared?” she asked, teeth nipping at her lip. Owen nodded, soft and barely there. 

“Yes,” he whispered back. He shut his eyes, holding her hand a little rougher, just to feel her hand under his. “I don’t…” he started just as Claire’s finger pressed to his lips.

“Shh,” she calmed, “I know,” she said, kissing at his nose. 

Claire tossed over, looking back and taking Owen’s hand. He was scared when she turned, but as she spread his fingers, tracing a pattern into his palm, he relaxed. Moving in closer to her, Claire moved his hand over to her chest, letting his palm fall on breast and his fingers take hold in a soft grasp. Owen chuckled as Claire relaxed into his chest. Claire fell asleep quickly, and Owen watched her for a short time before eventually drifting into sleep himself.

Sleeping was always hard for Owen, but whenever Claire was around, he found comfort in it. He didn’t sleep long hours, but at least he slept. Doctors told him to get medication for his insomnia and go to more meetings, but he always felt a little out of place taking his medication. He didn’t sleep well with it either way. 

Claire shifted in his arms, and he grinned. “Morning,” Owen said, kissing the back of her neck, trailing kisses down to her shoulder. Claire tossed over in his arms, looking up at him with still glazed eyes from her sleep. 

“You didn’t stay up all night, did you?” she grumbled, rubbing at her eye. 

“Waited until you were asleep before I let myself,” he shrugged. 

“Woke up before me too,” she said, shaking her head. 

“I don’t sleep much,” he said, clearing his throat. Claire took in a long breath, moving into Owen’s chest, kissing at his neck.

“I remember,” she said, slowing moving her arms around his waist and holding onto him. 

Staying in bed for hours, ignoring the day, they got their moment - the moment where they talked about them, what they wanted, and what they needed. It was complicated and a lot of trouble, but they stayed in bed for a while, talking and discussing. Eventually, with Claire in one of Owen’s shirts, they made their way to the kitchen, making food, talking all the while, and knowing how comfortable it was. 

And to them, it was all they needed for a start. They worked the other stuff out along the way. Moving into a place they could call theirs, they were living together comfortably and they didn’t get asked too many questions. After that, yeah complicated stuff came up - but they dealt with it, because they knew they could rely on each other to figure it out. 

Amongst it all, they stole touches; lingering fingers on backs, hands that would tangle fingers for just a moment. Kisses that lasted only a short while, but foreheads touching to make it all linger. They craved each other, the physical nature of each other, a way they could feel that everything that was bottled up inside was true. They loved each other. And their partner was there to love them back.

Owen tried almost all the time to be able to touch Claire, longing to hold her hand, touch her waist, caress her cheek; anyway to get her in his grasp, he wanted. He craved it. 

Owen was in love and happy. And he didn’t long for anything better. 

Because it was within his hold. 

 

*~*~*

 

_ 12 years ago _

“I’m Claire,” she introduced, extending her hand to his. Claire hated college parties - there were always drunk teenagers trying to be cooler than they were and her friends vomiting in a bush she may have to take care of. 

But, her roommate dragged her out of the apartment, telling her to live. Claire needed a life outside of studying. She didn’t argue because she did. Getting dressed up, her group of friends guiding them to a frat house that was hosting a party that had way too many people to just be one house’s member. Her friends raced inside and Claire followed, realising she was probably only brought along to be the designated driver. 

Claire wandered the party alone, being hit on a lot and not particularly liking any of the drunken conversations she was apart of. Forcing herself outside, she saw the game of beer pong on the front lawn. Everyone playing was already wasted, barely able to bounce the ball to the other side. But that was when Claire saw him. Tall, dusty blond hair and green eyes that were detectable from the distance she was away from him. 

He was positioned against the outside wall of the house, watching the beer pond go poorly and shouting at their troubles to make any shots. He laughed to himself, but Claire felt like she could approach him; welcoming and unlikely to brush her aside. He smiled at her, eyes alight as she spoke only two words. 

“Owen,” he replied, gripping her hand and taking a sip from his bottle of beer. He is much taller than most of the boys here, broad shoulders and thick, curly hair. Claire had to admit she liked the look on him; a rugged boy, relaxed but confident in himself and how he talked. 

“You studying hard?” she asked, leaning into him. He chuckled, leaning down to her.

“Barely,” he joked and Claire smiled weakly, unsure of how to reply. She wasn’t good at flirting. “I don’t think I’m cut out for college,” he explained, giving a vague shrug. Claire liked him, how he held himself - it was attractive to her - but she wasn’t used to holding a conversation where she knew she wanted to ask him out. Boys did it all the time right? She could do it too. 

“Maybe you came for some other reason,” she said, knowing she sounded like Karen. The way she believed in fate; like how she met Scott and was expecting her first kid any day. She didn’t have to be herself if she just wanted something fun. Owen turned to her, curiosity in his smirk.

“What would that be?” he asked, leaning into her. The way his eyes caught the lights of the house, the confidence that radiated off of him. He knew he was attractive, but used it sparingly. 

“Finding a path to something more you want,” Claire said, licking at her lips and stepping closer to him. There was a pull in her gut, a feeling of needing to be closer to him than before. She wondered if he felt it too, because the playful look in his eyes turned soft and serious, edging just the slightest bit closer to her as well. 

“Yeah? You think a person can be a path?” he asked, smiling at her. 

“Maybe,” she said, swallowing the nervous tension that was flowing throughout her. She wanted it to happen, wondered if he kissed with the playful way his eyes looked at her, or was he just putting on an act. 

“Claire! Come on!” A voice spooked them apart. Owen cleared his throat, sinking back against the wall. Claire saw her friends gesturing from her to follow and some of them looked pale faced and on the verge of being sick. Claire grimaced before starting to walk away. 

“It was good meeting you,” Claire said, walking over to the group. 

“Same,” he offered, waving her off. Claire caught up with her friends, rubbing backs and making sure everyone had their things. But she couldn’t help herself, she looked over her shoulder, seeing him still smiling after her, eyes soft and smile just as sweet. 

The smile from a sweet stranger made her feel warm for weeks on end. 

She never met him again at college. 

There were times where she wished she did. 


	4. Enemy Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working in the same precinct is fun, especially when you get on with your M.E. When personal lives intertwine with professional - things get rocky for the detective and medical examiner pair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, i’ve had this idea on hold for a while, and I just wanted to write and I got super nervous and yeah. I’m sorry if it’s scratchy, I’m doing my major pieces at Uni at the moment, so writing for fun as been a limited time for me. Please enjoy!

Owen nudged the door open with his foot, donut in between his teeth and two cups of coffee in hand. His was double espresso and hers was a black coffee. He had learned pretty early on in their working relationship that Claire could not work with anything but black coffee. He didn’t get it, but most of the time he was an insomniac who needed espresso to wake him up. Today was no different. He was kind of a mess since getting back from his last deployment. Police work, patrols, night shifts, everything was tiring, but it had been what his father had done, and Owen followed in his footsteps. Being a detective just came naturally. 

Claire was in her scrubs when Owen moved past the threshold of the morgue. The victim was on the metal slab, his chest cavity already opened and her hands inside the guy. “Oh, god,” Owen muffled his own shout, donut still lodged between his teeth, and averted his eyes before looking back at Claire who seemed unfazed by his words. “Can’t you guys put up a sign like ‘we’re elbow deep in someone, give us like fifteen minutes’? Like is it that hard?” he asked, setting her coffee down on her desk. He sifted through the top layer of reports and didn’t find any on his victim, so he didn’t have any tox reports to read up on. 

“That’s a very specific sign,” Claire said, nudging her glasses up with her forearm, but they slipped further down her nose. She lifted her head, her glasses right at the edge of her nose. “Can you just -” she started, but Owen was already by her side, pushing her glasses back up. Claire was Owen’s most trusted medical examiner; they were both pretty new when they first started out, so they had formed a friendship over their years. It wasn’t great because Claire didn’t like most of Owen’s jokes, but there were times where she did laugh, and it made everything worthwhile. 

“I came too early,” he huffed and Claire nodded, extracting a lung from the victim’s chest. 

“You get so excited with cases like this,” she explained, putting the lung on the weight and frowning at the size. 

When they had found the guy, he was floating in the river. On the screen closest to the table read the name Elijah Mills. ID had come in, so it was at least something. Owen went over the newly printed paperwork they had acquired from Elijah’s blood test. There was very little information on him - home address and next of kin, basic stuff he could search up further in his office. No criminal record, but he had been suspected of -

“This guy didn’t drown,” Claire interrupted Owen’s thought and he turned to her. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, moving towards the body. It became easier when her hands weren’t inside the dead guy. Claire gestured to her eyes and Owen came and took them off as Claire removed her gloves. She went over to the sink and washed her hands, drying them as she explained. 

“Well, at first glance, his lungs don’t seem to be weighted by water, but sometimes it isn’t obvious. That weight, it’s the size of a regular lung of a man of his size. He didn’t drown,” she said, pointing to the weight that meant nothing to Owen other than trusting her word.

“He has signs of drowning?” he recalled from the crime scene. Claire had stated that it looked like drowning from the initial inspection of the body, but she needed to double check. 

“He has signs of lack of oxygen,” she said, opening the lid of his eye to show signs of  petechial hemorrhaging, “I will need to examine the throat to be sure, but I’m saying you’re looking at a murder,” she nodded, her fridge moving into her eyes. Blowing it away, Owen huffed. 

“I told you, you need a haircut,” Owen said handing Claire’s glasses back to her. She flipped them open and pushed up her fridge with them, causing her hair to stick up. Owen couldn’t help himself, he burst into hysterics and Claire chuckled before moving them down to her nose. 

“Create more hours in my week and I’d still not have enough time to do that,” she said, and Owen nodded, knowing the amount of work of them need to do. 

“There’s this thing called a day off, you should try it sometime,” Owen offered, knowing Claire’s reaction. She scoffed. 

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Claire joked, moving back to the body and putting on new gloves, ready to make an incision. Without much notice, she made the careful slice and Owen groaned, looking towards the ceiling. 

“Why did you have to open him up like that?” he asked. Claire scoffed, voice sounding covered, her focus now back on the victim and not directing herself to him. 

“Because, Grady, I love watching you squirm just a little bit,” she quipped and Owen groaned. 

“I’m used to seeing dead people but god, this is just gross,” he groaned.

“Baby,” she scoffed. Owen kept his eyes on the ceiling, which made him run into the door, rather than push on it. Across the room, he heard a squeaking laugh from Claire, and oddly enough, he liked the fact that she laughed at him. 

Returning home after his shift, Owen managed to see his neighbour from across the hall. Claire. It was a shock to them both when they met in the morning and subsequently on the same case. They laughed about it a lot, but their schedules sometimes made these encounters rare. Looking exhausted and fiddling with her keys, Owen whistled and Claire jumped. Seeing him, she sighed and went back to her keys.

“How did your shift go?” he asked, and with the small groan, she knew what he was asking. 

“You heard about the intern, didn’t you?” she said, head leaning against her door before turning around to face each other.

“How does a kid just throw up on his teacher?” he asked, and Claire turned around, her hair pinned up in a messy bun and as she turned and there was stain running all the way down her right side. Owen suppressed a laugh as he saw the mortified and disheveled look on Claire’s face. 

“You’d be surprised,” she huffed, going to her door and unlocking it. 

“Have a fun night getting that smell off of you,” he said, Claire was just about to shut her door when she leaned against the frame. 

“Owen, I’m around dead bodies all day, I smell bad all the time,” she said, smiling before waving goodnight.

It wasn’t too much later when Owen was relaxing in front of the TV, going over some notes from his day, the screen idle as he concentrated and drank some beer gradually. When there was a persisting knocking nearby, Owen went and investigated. He found a guy just trying to deliver food to Claire’s apartment, but she was refusing to answer - a strange act. Owen paid and gathered up the food, knocking on her door a little louder and calling out. 

“Dearing?”

“Grady! Is that you?” she yelled back, her voice an echo. 

“Yeah?” he replied. 

“I have a key on top of the door frame!” she said, and upon reaching up, found the key and unlocked her front door. If this was some weird foreplay thing - he might have been into it if the circumstances didn’t make him a little nervous. 

“Your Chinese food was about to leave but I got it for you. Are you still -” he explained, before there was a loud bang and Claire swore. 

“Fuck!” 

“What’s up?” Owen said, rushing to the back of her apartment, walking slowly into her bedroom. He should have known an M.E. would have a spotless apartment - never there to make a damn mess.

“Sorry,” she groaned. “I..I fell,” she explained in a huff. 

“Are you o-” Owen was about to open the door, when he heard a loud squeak. 

“Don’t come in!” she yelled and Owen backed away. 

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m in the shower, idiot. Get me a towel and don’t look in,” she explained, and he saw the towel on the bed, resting and waiting for her. Owen grabbed it and looked at the ceiling. Claire laughed but grabbed the towel off of him. All the while, Owen looked at the ceiling until there was a sharp clearing of Claire’s throat. “Help?” she asked, and Owen looked down, her hair a darker red and strings what it usually flowed into. Her hand rested on the knob of the tap, and the towel wrapped around her body tightly. In the bathtub-shower combo, Claire’s ankle hung outside of the tub, obviously tender. 

Bending down, Claire wrapped her arm around the back of his neck as her other hand stretched down to keep the towel mid thigh so Owen could reach underneath her. Both working together, they get out of the bathroom and Claire was laid in her bed. Owen ended up getting some ice from the freezer and applying to her ankle as she rested it up on a pillow.

“You are the most badass M.E. in the entire precinct...how are you so clumsy?” he laughed and he could tell Claire wanted to reach over and wallop him. 

“I’m good at medical shit. Just not...everything else,” she huffed, leaning back into her bed and crossing her arms.

“I can tell,” Owen chuckled, moving towards her chest of drawers and trying to find something for Claire. She was sitting rather uncomfortably wet in her own bed - it was the least he could do. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting you clothes,” he said, tossing her a large t-shirt in found in a drawer. “Do you need me to get underwear or som-” Claire started to rush in putting on the shirt, moving away from her position on the bed. 

“Hey! Not in there,” she called out, just before Owen found what she said. Underneath a few assorted sleeping shirts sat a box. A box with Owen’s name written on it. It wasn’t an exciting or entertaining box, blue with a little note that read his name on top. 

“Woah, shit this has my name on it,” he said, examining the lock on the outside. He wasn’t going to find out what was in there, but he wouldn’t snoop inside either. Limping over, Claire snatched the box from his hands, tucking it behind her back and settling to sit back on the bed. 

“Hands off, Grady,” she barked, pushing the box underneath her covers. She sat awkwardly on the bed, trying to hide herself but not quite sure where to put her hands. Her cheeks were a cherry blossom colour, faded but still bright pink.

“Are you blushing? What’s in there anyway?” he asked. 

“It’s nothing, you can go now,”  she spat back angrily. There was a tension around them, and Owen knew he had messed up. Combing a hand through his hair he tried anyway.

“C’mon, Dearing, I’ll get you -” 

“You can go. I’ll be fine,” she snapped. Owen sighed, leaving her apartment and putting her key back where he found it. 

Since knowing Claire for several years, he had always wondered how interpreted him. Admittedly, he was smitten with the medical examiner. She was smart and witty, unafraid of the rougher side of life. Plus, she was attractive as hell. Now, he was just confused. Why on earth did a woman who could either joke with him or be angered by him have a box...with his name on it. What did it even mean? 

His mind was racing with possibilities all night; some sinful, some for jest, and some just for pure infatuation. When he got to work, three coffees deep and sleep lacking like usual, he was bombarded by Lowery. He had somehow seen Owen watch Claire walk into work that morning. In fairness, Owen knew he was staring. She was tying up her hair into a bun, blowing her fridge out of her face again, and stopping to pin back the excess hair.

Lowery kept going on and on, and the box slipped out. From there, it felt like an avalanche of questions. Owen pushed them aside and went to his desk, already getting on the phone with as many people as he could. His shift was all well and good until someone wrenched his chair around and slapped him clean across the face. The precinct erupted into shocked noises as Owen saw Claire standing over him. She was still in her scrubs, looking irritated and  _ hurt _ .

“What the hell did you tell everyone?” she yelled and Owen stood, rubbing at his cheek.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” his voice low, trying to whisper.

“Lowery,” she remarked and Owen’s jaw went slack. That little...Owen was going to kill him. “Oh, now you remember. Just for that shit, we’re no longer working together,” she said, and Owen felt himself almost collapse. He was definitely going to kill Lowery. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” he tried, but Claire snapped her fingers, a smug and indignant face.

“Yes, I do. My request to no longer be on your cases is going through,” she said, turning on her heels and heading back towards the morgue. Owen was quick to follow her, ignoring the loud gossip of everyone around them. 

“Wait, Claire,” he tried, reaching for her wrist, but Claire was already pulling away.

“No!” she said, turning to him, and he could feel the hurt that she was feeling. He hated that he was the cause in some way. “That was something personal, something you weren’t even supposed to see. You took something private and made it public. I don’t have to forgive you for this. You fucked up, Owen. Now you have to live with what you did,” she said, walking away, visibly shaken with her hand pressed to her forehead. Owen felt his fists clench, the overwhelming urge to punch his hand throw a wall was staggering and he really wished he hadn’t when his fist met the concrete wall. Cursing to himself and looking down at his fist, he could see the broken skin and the redness was already occurring. 

That night, pacing his apartment, he tried to think of how he could do something to make up for this mess. He couldn’t even concentrate through the rest of his shift - with an aching hand and a confused and frustrated head, there was no use. Owen also knew one simple thing - Claire didn’t want a show of apology, some big grand gesture. She liked the plain and honest truth. Just like her bodies give her - they say things a living body can’t, because they lie. 

Knocking on her door, Claire answered, and immediately tried to shut the door. Owen jammed his foot on the door, hand gripping around the frame. “Can I explain?” he asked, but Claire still looked scornful. 

“Why should I let you?” she replied and Owen sighed, letting the door go loose. 

“I think I deserve that much,” he said, chewing on the inside of his lip. Claire paused, waiting a few moments before she let the door go and crossed her arms. 

“Fine.”

“I only told Lowery,” Owen began.

“Wow,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“No one else in the precinct knows, I made sure of it,” he nodded. Claire shook her head. 

“What did you tell him?” 

“He...keeps pushing me to ask you out,” he explained, noticing the surprised shift in her weight, shoulders rising higher as her cheeks became pinker, “and I told him it wasn’t the right time after I found that box,” he said and Claire rubbed at her brow, as though she was embarrassed, “and he was just pressuring me with constant questions, so I spilled. I warned him not to tell anyone else what I said. Guess he thought you were an exception. Maybe wanted more details.” 

“That is something Lowery would do,” Claire resigned, looking back at Owen. He rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting for her to slap him...or something. “I’ll retract the form,” she said. Owen’s brow furrowed, confused by her words. 

“You don’t have to do that if -” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she huffed, waving off the matter before she stood taller again, her attention brought to another topic of conversation. “Are you still considering asking me out now?” 

“I was hoping you’d forget that part,” Owen chuckled, feeling the heat of his cheeks rise to a brimstone heat. “Maybe. Given that this thing doesn’t hurt our working relationship,” he said honestly.

“It won’t. Lowery, on the other hand,” she said and they both laughed, the distance that the doorway kept between them made Owen hate Lowery the more. “The box just has stuff you’ve given me in it,” Claire said, voice soft and barely there. 

“What?” 

“You’ve given me a few things. Just small things. But I like them. That’s what’s in the box,” she said again, avoiding his gaze and holding herself closer. Shielding herself from a reaction. 

“I’m glad you’ve kept that stuff. It’s nice,” Owen said, his words feeling strangled. They probably sounded it too by Claire’s cringing reaction.

“We can stop talking about it now,” she said, waving off the subject again.

“Okay cool,” he laughed. Claire licked at her lips and Owen held his breath.

“Night, Owen,” she said quickly, beginning to shut the door.

“Night, Dearing,” he replied and she smiled just before the door closed fully. 

It was a week before Owen saw Claire again. They had no other lapping cases until he closed his current one. And that’s what he did. Found the guy that killed Elijah - Eli - and they arrested him. Owen was at the local cop bar, drinking a beer and watching a game. He wasn’t interested in it, he just wanted the chaos of the last week or so to be over. Settling his beer down, rubbing at his eyes, he felt someone walk past him. Opening them, he saw Claire take his beer and sit across from him in the booth. 

“Heard you got him,” she said, sipping at his beer. He chuckled before leaning forward.

“He was running a side gig. Extortion and what not,” he explained, “they got mad. Made sure he never breathed again.” 

“Nice work,” she remarked, finishing off the drink and smiling to him. 

“Couldn’t have done it with you,” he said, knowing that some M.E. may not go as far as she did when a case looked so cut and dry.

“I know,” she smiled, leaning back into the booth. 

“We okay?” he asked, hopeful. She tilted her head. 

“Buy me another beer and see what happens,” she smirked and Owen nodded, heading to the bar and getting two more drinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOIN THE DISCORD FOR MY FICS! For those unaware, discord is mainly used for gamers, but it's a great place for group chats! I post in there about steady updates on stories and other things. I want to keep you guys in the loop on these stories so come join!  
> <https://discord.gg/NJgFbMy>  
> 


	5. Paw Prints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen owns the local animal shelter and trains service dogs. Claire volunteers there for a nice line on her resume. Everyone teases Owen about his obvious attraction towards her. The thing he doesn’t realise - the feelings aren’t one sided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt from an anon! I adored it so much! thank you to whoever sent it in! hope i did it justice! xx

“She’s hot, right?” 

“What?” Owen said, realising he was staring. Claire sat at the front desk, her pen between two fingers as she balanced it back and forth, some lawyer talking to her with his fancy suit and perfect grin. Owen rolled his eyes when the guy laughed and Claire forced a smile. Lowery nudged Owen again. 

“You know, the love of your life? Claire?” 

“Shut up,” Owen shoved Lowery, who laughed and took Echo to the next room to go for outdoor training. She was a calm blue heeler who followed her commands, but liked to play a lot . Rex  barked as she followed Lowery and Echo, her head held high as she walked briskly towards the sliding backdoor.

Claire worked the front desk occasionally, something about how she needed volunteer work on her resume. She was a young hotshot lawyer straight out of law school and said she liked what they were doing for veterans. Her father served once, and had required a service dog on his return. It seemed to be close to her heart, and Owen agreed to let her on - though he had tried to pay her for her work, she requested that it all be put on as volunteer stuff. He had a few paychecks to give her when she decided she no longer needed the position. 

Without fail, however, every day lawyers from her classes or ones that she knew came by to give her coffee or talk to her for longer than Owen liked. They had one thing in common. God he hated pretty boys. He knew he was jealous - of their easy grins and floofy hair and the way they seemed to talk so effortlessly with her. But comparing himself was a new low. Maybe she liked pretty boys, like the ones that always came to visit. Instead, Owen was sitting there with his ex-marine status and ptsd to match the war wounds, and hairy as bigfoot. 

He was training Charlie that day and, the beautiful black labrador came trotting up behind Owen as he guided her to her spot.  As the other dogs got to relax and unwind outside, Owen had his own pup - Blue - sitting nearby as Lowery and Barry came to the training exercise. For some vets, crowded or tight spaces were triggers; and admittedly it was one of Owen’s, but it allowed them a unique opportunity to help the dogs understand a real event. As they walked the length of the animal shelter, Lowery and Barry came up beside Owen, their shoulders touching and pushing him into an uncomfortable position. Owen could feel his heart rate increasing, and as Charlie saw, she immediately got in between Owen and Lowery, and the same to Barry, giving Owen as much space as he needed. 

The two other trainers looked cautiously at Owen before nodding and giving a treat to Charlie for her good behaviour. But Owen’s mind hadn’t kicked out of gear, reeling and charged with energy he wasn’t able to omit. And then, his head raced with flashes of memories, the realness of it all making his hands shake and he was having a full fledged attack that he couldn’t control. 

Bomb. Drop. 

Explosion. 

Fire.

Flash. 

Screaming. 

Calls of his name. 

Flash. 

Crushing. 

Legs feeling numb. 

Flash. 

Owen felt Blue jumping up at him and he collapsed down to his knees, the two dogs whimpering as he settled him against the wall, guiding him down and licking at his face. Charlie had already been trained in this exercise, but had never truly achieved what Blue had. Blue rested her head in Owen’s lap as he began breathing in long deep breaths. Charlie occasionally licked Owen’s hand, staying as close as she could on Owen’s other side. 

It was calm, having Blue by his side. After his final deployment, he was exhausted and he knew the dreams he was having were signs of ptsd. The moment he could, he got therapy, he had his service dog - Blue - and he was having less attacks because of her around. The attacks less severe and less frequent, but he still had them bearing down on him. When he heard the owner of the local veteran animal shelter was selling, he knew he had to get in on it. 

Although he knew very little of taking care of a business like this, he was good at training animals from his time abroad and when his friends all heard, they wanted to jump on board too. Zara and Zia were two vets who volunteered at the clinic for check ups on the service dogs, whilst Lowery trained animals for a living, Barry was just a lucky break when he had no job after serving and was great with training the dogs for stealth units. Franklin kept their business together - though he was terrible around the dogs, he managed to work with Claire on the books and keep away from the animals for most of the time. When they housed cats for a short time, Franklin would steal away to their section before leaving in sneezing fits. 

Hated dogs, and was allergic to cats. 

“Are you okay?” A voice asked and Owen looked up - his mind racing and in his own world. 

“Huh?” He asked before realising Claire was bending down to his level, hand cautiously touching his knee. 

“You’ve been in the corner for a little while with Blue and Charlie,” she said, and Owen felt his heart rate had definitely gone down and the dogs had calmed down along with him. 

“Oh, uh…” Owen said, shifting to make the dogs get a little excited. Owen cleared his throat. “The exercise is a hard one for me. We usually do it to trigger for the dogs to see how they react. Blue is usually close by in case they can’t,” he explained, realising the mistakes of his exercise - and although it wasn’t always like this, it could be a possibility. 

“You shouldn’t purposely trigger yourself,” Claire said, patting his knee gently. 

“Yeah, we know, but it’s good that they experience what a real attack is like,” he said, feeling his heart rate go a little haywire. Charlie soon began licking his face, leaning her head on his thigh to indicate to him to calm down. 

“Do you want me to bring you anything?” she asked. 

“I think I’ll be fine,” he said, patting at the dogs’ heads. “Thanks anyway,” he smiled. 

“Shout if you need me,” Claire said, rising from her crouching position to walk back to her desk, turning and smiling at him as he let his head rest against the wall. It was only a few minutes later when Owen stood and went back to work, maintaining a level head throughout the day. 

It was a well known fact around the shelter that Owen was completely in love with Claire. He couldn’t help it - she was strong, smart, and never let anyone get to her. The minute she was hired, everyone made fun of Owen, how he listened to her and the way he watched her walk away all the time. He was a mess and the whole shelter had begged Owen to ask her out.  Something that Owen was still struggling with…

It was hard; trying to get the courage to approach her. He’d tried - so many times he’d called her name, only to be dazed by her perfume. Or he’d walk up to her desk, plans for coffee already flying off his tongue, and she’d smile up at him and he’d choke on the sentence at the back of his throat. Finding the words was always difficult around her - in a way it had never been with anyone else. He could charm just about any woman to come home with him, take them to bed and show them a good time - and the one time he needed his charm to work, he became a bumbling mess of a man, unable to find his limbs and the giddiness erupting like a teenage boy. 

Which was why, when he ran into her on a sunny Thursday, he found himself with a barking dog, a coffee stained dress shirt, and a vow to never even bother asking again. Claire had done a girlish laugh, patted his shoulder, and the courage that he could have had was now deeper than the dogshit he had to pick up later that same day. 

From that day on, it became pining looks that were never inconspicuous, and daydreams that were lost to the mess of his ptsd mind. 

 

*~*~*

 

Rex was a largest dog he’d ever trained, a giant caucasian ovcharka. When her owner had passed away, she had no real home to go to, so she acted as the shelters carer - but went home with Blue and Owen at the end of the day. Blue had recently had a bath, and was running around outside in the sun, as Rex relaxed inside with Owen underneath the air conditioning, following the airflow. Rex barked at Owen when he got in her way, but she wagged her tail anyway. 

Claire walked in with one of the regular douchebag lawyers on her heels - Eli Mills. He wore his suits like he was the richest man in the world, but they were cheap and tacky - just like Eli, it seemed. Claire, on the other hand, wasn’t going into her firm just yet; she was only a researcher, so didn’t have cases to work. Graceful as ever, Claire wore the pastel blue summer dress, wrapped around her like she was a gift, and her hair pulled up off of her neck. 

So yeah, Owen was staring. 

Very obviously staring. 

Rex barked, but Owen just patted her head, pretending to guide her in a circle as he still watched as Claire went over her notes and tried to hold a conversation with a wooden door. 

“Yes, Owen, I do love you. None of the other men matter, only you,” Lowery whispered in Owen’s ear, and Owen shoved the shortstack aside, even though Lowery’s fits of laughter made Owen smile. 

“Come here, asshat,” Owen cursed, chasing Lowery around, Rex racing after them and bellowing out howls, tailing going nuts as she jumped around. She was a dominant force, pushing them around and they both chuckled as it became a battle between the men and the beast. 

“It’s a little unprofessional to just beat up an employee, don’t you think?” Eli called out and the pair looked at each and scoffed, Rex still jumping around. 

“Rex, down,” Owen whistled sharply, and Rex stopped barking and stood her ground, staring at Owen as he made full eye contact with Eli, “heal,” he said, Rex meeting at Owen’s side. “Beg,” he ordered, “assert,” he said, Rex moving around Owen, barking before standing in front of him and giving three barks, equal distance apart as she sat in front of him. Owen smiled, kneeling down and patting Rex’s head, handing over a treat, which she gladly took. “Good girl,” he praised. “I’m a good trainer. If I’m good at my job, I get to fuck around,” Owen said, 

“You should be concerned that veterans come here and get shitty dogs,” Eli commented, just as an old army buddy came through the front doors and Owen beamed, hollering to him. 

“Sempa Fi!” Reaper called. Owen saluted the man.

“Hey Reaper! I have Charlie ready for some training,” Owen said, hugging Michael - nicknamed Reaper - arm over his shoulder as he took him to the back rooms with the other dogs. 

“Owen is a veteran. I think respect should be shown to a guy that’s seen more shit than you have,” Claire replied, and Eli said something in a hushed voice to Claire. Owen smiled to Claire as he continued on. 

“Rex,” Owen called, whistling again and the giant dog walked quickly behind Owen as he showed the fellow veteran Charlie and guided him through commands. 

 

*~*~*

 

Owen was watching Barry as he guided Delta, an eager German Shepherd, through her basic runs as a seeing eye dog. She was very talented and could be very focused on her job. The two trainers made some remarks to one another, noting some small things she could improve on, getting her to go through the exercise a few more times with praise coming from every successful run. It wasn’t long before Owen became a little distracted by the redhead by the door. 

It was the staring. 

The staring always made him a little fumbly. 

Because when Claire looked up at him, Owen’s attention went down to his shoes when he should have refocused on Barry and Delta. 

Owen had no game whatsoever. 

He crossed his arms, and felt his palms get sweaty as she walked over, the outfit of the day was a suit that made Owen’s mouth a little dry. 

“I have to grab coffee today, I was wondering if you wanted to join me?” she explained, and all Owen’s mind did was focus on the word -  _ I have to _ \- because she was meeting Eli. She was meeting with Eli again and Owen would have to watch him try and flirt with her yet again, and his jealousy was a raging creature. He lost to it every time. Owen cleared his throat. 

“Oh, I don’t want to get in the way, you go on,” he said, noticing the slight shock on her face - an unexpected response? 

“Oh, okay, uh, see you later?” she asked and Owen nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at her weakly before she moved towards the doors. Owen watched as she left, mentally beating the shit out of himself for being the absolute worst 

“Owen,” Barry said, meeting Owen at his side. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re a dumbass,” Barry said, and Owen looked over at his friend. 

“Why?” 

“She was asking you out, you complete idiot,” he said, smacking at Owen’s shoulder. Owen’s eyes narrowed - she wasn’t asking him out, that’d be stupid. She didn’t like guys like him; he wasn’t like the guys she was surrounded by. He was different and rough and serly compared to the lawyers that fawn at her feet. 

“I can fire you, you know?” Owen snapped, and Barry clicked his tongue. 

“Do it, I dare you,” he replied. 

“Rex, chase,” Owen called, Rex bounding from her sitting position and springing up to Barry who tried to control Rex and Delta, as the two dogs set each other off - overstimulation was bad for service dogs. 

“Hey!” Barry called out in a laugh and Owen whistled. 

“Okay, Rex, heel,” he called, and Rex came back to him, waiting for her next task and he gave a small clicking sound before she circled to her spot and sat down. 

 

*~*~*

 

Owen had Rex staying at the shelter as he did some errands with Blue. He had bangs hanging from his wrists, wandering around corners trying to find a cafe that may be service dog friendly when a voice called out in the crowd. “Hey you!” Owen looked forward, finding Claire waving at him delicately. Blue barked, wagging her tail and moving eagerly next to Owen. 

“Oh, hi!” he replied, smiling to Claire. Though, his smile shifted when he saw Eli. 

“Claire, we have to -” he tried to say before she waved him off. 

“You go on ahead,” she said. Owen looked between the pair before trying to whisper to Claire.

“I don’t want to hold you up,” he said, but Claire ignored the question, bending down to Blue who sat patiently by Owen’s side. She didn’t interact with Blue, just waving and smiling.

“Are you going for a coffee?” she asked, and there was a small dart of her hand that was clear that she wanted to pat Blue more than she’d care to admit. Owen hid his smile. 

“Ah, yeah, but -” 

“Come on, I’ll buy,” she said, seemingly ignoring his efforts to stop interrupting her day. She willingly became a part of his day, it seemed. 

“You don’t have to d-”

“Claire!” Eli called out, but Claire just waved over her shoulder.

“Go ahead, Eli! I’ll be right there!” she said, arm still hooked with Owen’s as she walked them to a cafe nearby. 

Owen was always nervous about taking Blue to cafes or restaurants - many didn’t accommodate an animal inside, or they didn’t known if they had a certain policy against animals. Instead, it seemed, Owen was willing to follow Claire, trusting her instincts rather than his own. Walking inside, people eyed the dog with the vest on the minute they walked in. Blue stayed focused on Owen’s side as the pair walked up the counter. 

The barista looked at Owen and Blue, their brow furrowing as they stammered for words.  “We don’t -” 

“Service dog,” Claire interrupted, “can I grab regular caramel latte,” she ordered quickly with no hesitation. Owen was still unsure but she soon looked at him with a curious tilt of her head, “you?” 

“Large black coffee,” he said back, not wanting to take up anymore of her time for that day. 

“And a large black coffee,” she repeated for the barista, “oh, and some whipped cream for the dog, please?” she said, handing her card over for payment. 

“Sure,” The barista smiled at the request and it was all put through. 

“You know you don’t -” 

“No arguing,” Claire said, taking the card back and smiling at him. Owen gave over a defeated chuckle, giving her a weak salute. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied and Claire laughed. 

They sat outside the cafe for a little while as Blue laid down on the ground, licking the small cup of whipped cream before the pair decided to set off. Blue was still concerned with licking the remnants of the cream from her nose when there was a soft and breathable moment that Owen took in droves. It was a courage he was lacking, but he wanted to make it last.

“You look nice today,” he said, and Claire smiled, looking down at her outfit. She wore a flowy white skirt that went just past her knees and matched with a long sleeve pastel blue blouse. It was slightly see through, a white tank top underneath, but she looked amazing. 

“Thank you,” she replied, a giddiness in her reply. “I’m meeting with the partners of the firm today and get to talk about becoming an actual lawyer instead of a researcher,” she said, holding her coffee a little tighter. 

“That’s amazing,” Owen nodded, trying to follow her words as much as he could - though he had very little knowledge on what it all meant. 

“It’s a little nerve wracking if I have to be honest,” she laughed. 

“Yeah, Blue can tell,” Owen chuckled and Claire turned to him.

“What?” 

“She’s whining,” Owen said, and the pause between their words let the dogs soft whines be heard. “It’s not because of me,” he said and Claire huffed, crouching down to Blue’s level once more.

“Hey, girl,” she greeted, “I’ll be okay,” she winked before standing. Owen gave soft pats to the border collie’s head. 

“You’re gonna be just amazing, Claire,” Owen said, and there was a sigh that left Claire - a breath of relief. 

“Thank you,” she said, moving into his space and kissing his cheek. She pulled back as her phone started to ring and she cursed under her breath. “I’ve gotta run! I’ll see you later!” she said, hurrying off and Owen watched as she ran as fast as she could around a corner, heading towards whatever destination she needed to go. Regardless of how many times he had watched her leave - he could do it a thousand times over. 

 

*~*~*

 

Blue was being calm that day - he felt the pressure from his shoulders lifting with her by his side, and even as he paced about some business with the shelter, she still kept him calm. The forms he was reading were simple and didn’t mean anything bad, but he needed to go over them as owner of the business - it just confused the shit out of him. 

Taking another lap, Owen heard the doors of the shelter open and he rolled his eyes when he saw Eli walking into the room, cocky attitude following him like a bad stink. He leaned on the front desk as Claire’s attention was on her own that she was trying to get off her desk. “Claire, you know your starting at the firm soon,” Eli said and Owen’s pace slowed, listening into the conversation that he really didn’t want to pay attention to, but he wanted to make sure Claire was okay. 

“I’m very much aware of that,” she replied, voice quick and uninterested. 

“Before then, I want to take you on a nice date,” Eli said, his tone seductive yet condescending at the same time. Claire looked up at Eli. It made Owen feel sick and his heart felt like it was burning - racing to erupt into something that would finally -

“Blue, hey, stop it,” Owen said, feeling Blue push herself against Owen. 

“You know, wear a dress that would put any other woman to shame, get the best bottle of wine,” Eli continued and Owen clenched his fist around the paper. Blue began jumping up and down, trying to gain his attention as she whined.

“I’m calm, stop jumping,” he replied, trying to get the dog to calm down. 

“Dinner, movie, walk in the park, back to my plac-” 

“Woah!” Owen said as Blue jumped up and basically tackled Owen to the ground. She laid straight down on top of him, wagging her tail and keeping him pinned. Owen resigned to this feeling. It helped. And he knew why. 

“Owen, are you -” Claire tried before Eli’s laugh echoed in the shelter. 

“That guy really is nuts,” he said. Owen covered his eyes, patting at Blue’s head as he regained a better breathing pattern. 

“You can go, Eli,” Claire said to Owen’s surprise. 

“What?” To Eli’s surprise too apparently. 

“I know you don’t get this job, but I’ve liked it here,” she said, and he gave over a reluctant sigh. 

“Just call me about the date okay? I’ll pick you up wherever you wanna go,” he said, just before the doors shut. Owen was watching the inside of his palm, trying to remember when his life wasn’t a mess. It was never clear. Maybe the womb was his only non-chaotic place. 

“You okay?” Claire said and Owen turned to her. 

“Fine, I think Blue misread a sign, and pounced,” he lied, and Claire laughed as she sat down next to them. 

“She looks very comfy,” she said, nodding and hiding a smile.

“I’m her favourite bed,” he said, scratching behind the dog’s ear. 

“Lucky her,” Claire said, teeth nipping at her bottom lip. Owen’s heart ached. 

“You’ve only got a couple more weeks with us, huh?” he said, sitting up next to. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, tucking hair behind her ear. Owen became unexpectedly nervous, the obvious indication was the whine from Blue. “Did you want to -” 

“I’ve got a few paychecks for you,” he interrupted. Claire’s brow furrowed. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t want you going unpaid for this, at least part of it wasn’t volunteer work, but you should be paid for the overtime you did,” he said, shifting his position underneath Blue and managing to stand. 

Claire followed him up. “Owen, that isn’t wh-” 

“I’ll get that for you before you leave,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Can we talk about this, please?” she asked, and Owen stepped back from her.

“I gotta go train some of the dogs,” he said, turning on his heels and feeling his hands shake. God he was bad at...he didn’t even know what this was - but he certainly fucking sucked at it. 

 

*~*~*

 

It was quiet that night; a shaking breath of a coming night that made Owen nervous. He was closing up the shelter for the night, making sure everything was off - almost about to close up the veterinary rooms when he felt the lack of something by his side. “Blue?” he called, and when she didn’t come, he whistled. Owen switched on the lights, wandering the shelter as he became more panicked. Outside, he called her name. “Blue?!” he yelled, and the reply was silence. Until he heard laughed and thuds that sounded too familiar for Owen not to notice. 

Racing over to the back gate, he looked at the lock on the wooden fence and saw the lock was snapped off. He opened the door to the back alley to see something that made his stomach sink. His little partner in crime - the thing that kept him sane was struggling to breath and the only sound she was making was a pathetic whimper. The two guys saw Owen and dashed. Owen picked up a nearby rock throwing it at one before dashing after the other. The rock landed and hit the guy square in the back. Owen caught up to the guy and snatched him up by the collar, pulling him back to his friend and before keeping the guy on the ground with his foot. Owen held the guy by his collar, fuming with a rage only Blue could control and shook the guy.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked, the two men struggled, one trying to move his foot as the other clawed at Owen’s defiant hands. 

“Get your hands off of me!” the guys 

“You just beat the shit out of my dog? For fun, right?” he said and the man laughed, “I’m an ex-marine, asshole,” Owen threatened and the guy stopped laughing. “Whatever you did to my dog, I’m going to you, ten times over,” 

“Owen?” he heard the soft voice of Claire and he turned. She finally saw the scene and covered her mouth in shock.

“Call the police,” he yelled, pushing the guy to the fence, pinning the two guys in place, “if you know what’s good for you, you stay here,” he warned. And out of fear, neither of them moved until the police got there. 

Owen’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking. He worried about his dog. He was having an anxiety attack. And he needed his dog. That was on the brink of death probably. He didn’t have time to talk about this shit. He wanted it all over. 

“Yeah, thanks officer,” Owen nodded, turning to find Claire by the doors of the shelter, opening them up for him. “What’s goin-” 

“I got Zara, she’s treating Blue now, but...she’s operating,” she explained, and Owen’s hand went to his forehead. He was barely registering anything, he felt everything and nothing all at once, but there was a definite tremor in his limbs. 

“O-operating?” his voice shook. 

“She thought you’d want to as soon as possible, we didn’t want to wait,” Claire said, holding onto his arm. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, his breathing getting ragged as he stumbled forward on legs that could barely hold his weight.  

“Rex!” Claire called and the giant dog came racing, guiding him to a safe spot and settling him down on the ground, head resting near him and licking at his skin whenever she could. 

“Okay, I got to get in -” Owen said, almost standing, but Claire pulled him back down, keeping him in place. He looked at her with a shaking bottom lip and his hands bound so tight, his knuckles turned as white as the bones underneath. 

“Slow down, big guy, sit down,” she said. 

“Blue...is-” he choked. 

“It’s going to be ok,” she said, her hand rubbing up and down on his shoulder. Owen’s hands went over his face, the shake in his limbs still present as he tried to keep himself together. 

“I always tell people with service dogs that they do need to understand that their dogs aren’t forever. They’re a temporary part of your life,” he said, the tears slipping past his eyes and he sniffed. “I hate that I can’t follow my own advice,” he whimpered.

“I may not be able to lower your blood pressure, or slow down your heart rate,” Claire said softly, and her hand came to his, taking the tremor-filled fingers and wrapping her fingers around his, “but I can hold your hand until Zara is done,” she said and Owen looked at her with a heart that couldn’t calm down. He nodded to her, the tears still in his eyes, and Claire rested her head against his shoulder. He kept still with her there, Rex allowing him to breathe. 

It felt like a lifetime before Zara came out, her forehead broken into a sweat and she looked exhausted. Owen sprung to life and Claire followed with Rex on her heels. They came to his side and Claire hooked her hand with his again. Zara sighed before smiling to the pair. 

“She’s a little banged up right now, but she’s going to be fine, Owen,” she said, and Claire sighed in relief. 

“Thanks for coming in, Zara,” she said.

“Anything for you guys,” she replied, “I’ve got an early shift at the -” 

“Yeah, yeah, you can go,” Owen said, clearing his throat.

“She’s on a drip, but I’d still like to monitor her,” Zara said, and Owen shook his head.

“I can do it,” he replied and Zara nodded. She picked up her things and waved goodbye to them. Claire tugged on his hand briefly.

“I’ll get us something to eat,” she said. 

“Claire, you don’t have to stay,” he said, but the scowl she had told him he should have swallowed his words. 

“Don’t you dare argue with me right now,” she told him, “go see Blue, and I’ll bring us back something,” she nodded, her hand still gripping tightly to his. “Rex, you stay right there with him, okay?” she said to the dog, who was pinned to his side regardless. Owen laughed as her hand let go and went outside. 

Owen went to sleeping area, Blue’s pen had the drip attached to it and the dog slept soundly. She looked so broken - bandaged covering her legs, stitches piecing together wounds and blood stains in her fur that was once a polished coat. He sat down next to it, pulling blankets next to him, and on top of him as Rex came and sat by his side. 

Claire came back with a meal for the three of them - though she did prepare Rex’s when she came back with their take away. They managed to finish their dinner quickly and stayed up for most of the night to make sure Blue was doing alright. There seemed to be no problems, but Rex still occasionally whined when Owen became anxious. 

Claire drifted in and out of sleep. It wasn’t until Owen’s attention came to her, did he realise that Claire was in sweatpants and a large t-shirt. She had been wearing it since he saw her - which meant she only caught them there when she was going out to the grocery story or something. They had completely interrupted her night, but she didn’t seem to mind. Owen tapped his foot to hers. Her eyes opened weakly. 

“Thanks for staying here with me,” he whispered and she smiled.

“Anytime,” she murmured her reply before sleep finally took her. Owen managed little sleep, but when the next day came, the entire staff was there to take their place, allowing them both to go home and rest. Owen worried the whole time - but he was lucky that he had Rex by his side. 

 

*~*~*

 

A week or so had passed, Owen’s anxiety was maintained by Rex. But Blue was healing well and he liked seeing her with her panting smiles. Owen sat down next to the two dogs, keeping them calm. Lowery was training Echo, the shelter was quiet save for the entire staff being in attendance. Owen asked them why they were all there, but they had things to do that day, with Zia having an early appointment with an old dog they had trained. Zara came for a check up on Blue. Franklin was there to see the books, as this was one of the last chances to see Claire before she left. And the other two were training their dogs that day. 

The doors opened and Claire came through, a very casual look of jeans and a t-shirt with a faded print on it. Her hair was tied back and somehow she looked like a moviestar. 

“Hey girl!” Claire called and went racing over to Blue. The dog wagged her tail quickly, and Claire scratched the dog behind the ear. “She looks great,” Claire said looking up at Owen. He tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Thanks for helping us,” he said. 

“Always,” Claire shrugged, as though what she had done for him was nothing. He took a deep breath. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck briefly before tucking it away again. 

“I did too,” Claire said, taking her own breath. He had no idea what she was going to say, but he breath made him curious. 

“Do you want to go out with me?” The words that came out of both their mouths echoed, cheers and high fives exchanged between their staff behind them. They both laughed, Owen’s cheeks burning, and he saw the same redness emerging in Claire’s cheeks. 

“What?” Claire muttered. 

“Sorry?” Owen choked. 

“No, you -” Claire cut herself short.

“You -” he tried. 

Claire sighed, letting out a nervous chuckle before she straightened her shoulders and looked at him. “Owen, do you want to go out with me?” Claire said, a slow smile coming to her lips. 

“Yes, a lot actually,” he nodded. Another cheer from the staff before they both looked at them and they shut their mouths but laughed amongst themselves. Looking back at each other, they both rolled their eyes, smiling anyway. 

“Okay then,” Claire nodded, moving towards the back of the room where Franklin had been waiting and talked to him for a bit. Owen excused himself, going back to rooms for the dogs, and when he knew he was alone, he pumped his fists into the air. 

“Yes!” Owen cheered silently to himself, Blue dancing around his feet and Rex jumping up and almost knocking him to the ground. 

He couldn’t believe this life was falling into place. 


	6. From Afar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Karen watching Owen her crush and friend fall for her younger sister Claire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but I hope it’s okay. I felt weird about this AU, but I hope it’s alright for your prompt!

Karen had known Owen nearly all her life; the boy in her kindergarten class who was too small to take care of himself. He was kind, big green eyes, and a smile that could light up a room. The two became thick as thieves, running around, sharing secrets when they were something to keep. Above it all, the differing friends and small rifts between them, they stayed best friends. When Karen was young, she looked at the dusty blond, and knew she was going to marry him someday.

At least, she thought she knew. A child’s mind will do that.

Karen never mentioned it to anyone. Not even Claire. The two sisters may have been close, nearly as close as Owen and Karen, but it was a secret that Karen cradled to her chest. Through years, Karen remained content with her crush, wishing that he’d figure out what was going on in Karen’s head before the end of senior year. When senior year came, Karen had lost hope, but still kept it hidden away - wishing, hoping, longing - that one day, Owen would change his mind.

Throughout the years, it had never truly dawned on Karen - where Owen’s head was, why he never saw her. Then, it happened, the gradual softening of Owen’s eyes around Claire. The way he beamed like he never used to when they would play with her like only a few years before. The two best friends longing for someone they couldn’t have.

Before she realised it, Karen saw the change in Claire too. She’d get unusually nervous around Owen, giggle a little more, cheeks flushed pink and smile like a force of nature. When Claire saw Owen’s car pull up outside their house, she’d fix her hair in front of the mirror, or greet him first before he saw Karen. It was the startings of what affection looked like - deeper than that of anything Karen had experienced.

Teens knowing that there was more than nervous smiles and rosy cheeks, maybe one day there was a heated kiss in the back of a car, holding hands after a date, staying in one of their bedrooms - lying next to each other as they whispered things that only they could share. Slowly, all changed and all at once, becoming the world the other needed. They just hadn’t stepped past the nervous and

It hurt Karen to see - longing looks shared but never acted on as her heart felt crushed. Yet, in the midst of her small heartbreak, there was something missing. It was a feeling of loss - loss of a wanting - the feeling so foreign that it took all of Karen’s concentration to find it.

That’s all it was, a crush. Childlike and fantasies, rolled over onto a guy that showed her loyalty and admiration, kindness and joy - he was her friend, and she had taken what he gave and fulfilled what her dreams made up.  

It wasn’t long before the end of senior year was coming, and Owen still haven’t done anything about his attention to Claire. “You know,” Karen said, sitting at the edge of the gutter with Owen, coke can in hand, legs dangling off the side of the roof, “Claire likes daisies,” Karen said, sipping at the coke and looking up at the sky. Owen’s choking became apparent to her when his drink splattered all over Karen’s leg. She groaned before looking at the confused Owen.

“What?”

“Daisies and those chocolates with strawberry fillings,” she started, “if you’re gonna ask her out, she likes those things,” she explained and Owen laughed, scoffing over and over again.

“Kare, I don’t -”

“You suck at lying,” Karen laughed, “ask her out, dummy. It isn’t like you have much time before Stanford,” she said.

“I didn’t…realise you knew,” he said slowly, as though the subject was a cautious one to tread.

“Puppy eyes suit you very well,” Karen joked, grabbing Owen’s cheek and pinching it slightly. He shoved her hand off but laughed along with her. “You have such a thing for Claire, you might as well have a shirt that says ‘I want to be Claire Dearing’s boyfriend’. You’re not very subtle,” Karen joked, nudging his arm with her elbow. It wasn’t a moment later that the pair heard someone behind them clear their throat. At Karen’s bedroom window, Claire leaned on the frame.

“Hey guys, Mom says dinner is ready,” she said, backing away from the window, pursing her lips and smiling at the pair.

During dinner it was mostly silent, a few conversations here and there, but Karen chose to let her mouth stay shut as she watched the two talk. They both smiled and joked, Claire tucking hair behind her ear and Owen making sure he rarely took his eyes from her. Karen was definitely right about the puppy thing.

Saying goodnight to Owen by his car, Karen embraces him as Claire walked out. She waved from the front door when Owen suddenly cleared his throat. “Hey, Claire, can I talk to you for a sec?” He asked in a shout. Claire nodded and started to walk over when Karen punches at Owen’s shoulder.

“I’ll leave you guys,” she whispered and went back inside. From the front door, Karen watched them talk for only a few moments, Owen awkwardly trying to start what he was saying and rubbing at the back of his neck as he spoke. Then, Claire rose on her toes and snuck a kiss from Owen’s lips. Her rapid nodding told Karen everything she needed to know. Owen laughed and smiled wider than Karen thought he could.

And the crush, the one that wrapped around her chest for years, was gone. Because it was no longer a pain, but rather a joy to see the two people she cared for the most find what made them happy.


End file.
